


Travelers

by Keye



Series: Travelers [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-05-27
Updated: 2011-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:05:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 69,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keye/pseuds/Keye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the 1870s eastern US, Irish imigrant Sean Patrick McGee is an itinerant book trader who encounters a band of traveling gipsies, and finds his soul mate in Lija.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Family

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written for Hobbit100's prompt challenge at Live Journal.

We McGees weathered the famine nearly intact, which was more than most could say who'd lived through the dark times back home. I was only a little lad, but I remember how it was, the helpless rage of my elders as much as the hunger. We might have perished every one if Grandad hadn't the forethought to pack us all off to America, just short of being forced to it under far worse conditions. Though there were some wished to die before that long, perilous journey was over, not a life was lost. It wasn't the starvation or the voyage that took my family, but the hard years following.

Boston USA wasn't home. But, as a city, it was one of the better. In Boston, these later days, it wasn't a crime to be Irish, only a nuisance if you weren't one of those better landed, or having an inside track to the streets of gold too many of us thought to find here. I myself, being all of five, was disappointed to find the pavers of plain stone, but it was still a new world with new possibilities. I was taught it took hard work to get anywhere, but I could get anywhere if I worked hard enough. Not taking bad luck into account.

Three years after we came to America, my father was dead from consumption. A year later, we lost two brothers and an uncle to a terrible accident on the docks they were working. Mam succumbed to heartbreak not long after. And fever carried off Aunt Molly and everyone under the age of ten, my cousins and my little brother, my last brother. That was the worst, I think, that he should go and I should stay, when I willingly would have gone in his place. But it wasn't a choice I got to make. All that was left of the McGees by then was the two of us. Just me, Sean Patrick, and my old Grandad.

It sounds like a sad tale I'm telling, but no. Good luck found us eventually, when Grandad wagered near everything we had and won, a horse and a peddlers wagon. When I was fifteen, we left the city behind and made a way for ourselves traveling about doing odd jobs, buying and fixing and selling. Through years of careful planning and frugal means, I'd made it into what pleased me and kept us fed, a roving bookseller's trade. All in all, it was a fair good life we had.

As I say, Boston wasn't home, as much as one of the bigger way stops on our rounds. We had family of a kind in the city, friends, old and new. We could always find a bed for a night or a week of nights, and plenty of good Irish cooking, when the wagon needed work, or a hard winter got us down so we needed a respite. But a few weeks of the city was usually enough for the both of us, and we'd be off again.

That was where we were on a fine, early autumn day in '71, setting out from Boston with stores laid in for a circuit of the western towns. I'd made a good deal on an old collection of quality, leather bound masters and already had several buyers in mind. I was in high spirits, as was Mae, switching her tail across her dappled gray rump. I had Grandad beside me, happy to be on the move.

"Sean Patrick McGee, good journey to you!" Derry Flynn and some of his pals, heading out to their work on the docks as we clattered by. I raised my cap with a grateful thanks, and they all wished us best of luck. Fiona Fitzgerald was on the corner with her shopping basket on one arm, not by accident, I was sure. She called out a greeting as we passed, and a farewell. I gave her a tip of the cap and a kindly smile in return, but kept on.

That was one of the drawbacks of visiting the city, for me. Mothers and their daughters forever trying to settle me down. At twenty-eight, I'd more than half considered it a time or two. I'd have loved having a family of my own, with a dozen children at least, but freedom was a weighty thing to give up for it. And besides, the way my head turned, along with notable other parts, it wouldn't be fair to the lass, would it? So I kept telling myself.

By the time we'd rumbled our way out of the city to the crossroads, Grandad was leaned against my shoulder in a doze. I slowed Mae to a lazy walk and gave him a gentle nudge. "Grandad." It was our last chance to look at the sea before we turned inland, and I knew he wouldn't want to miss it. He was awake in a trice, raising his head to take in the sight.

"Ah, Seanie my lad, it's a grand thing."

It wasn't really the sea sparkling in his eye, I knew, but the green land beyond it. He'd told me once, and only once, that he wished he could go home to die. For Grandad, home was County Cork in Ireland. I'd not told him even once that I meant to take him, too wary of my plan falling through. But I was working on it. We turned off the coastal road at last and took the way to Norwood, down into the valley of the Neponset River.

Mae was in fine form, clopping along the packed dirt of the road at an eager pace, pulling the wagon with ease. There was no rush, but I let her go for a bit, watching the bunch and glide of her powerful muscles, and the sway of her rounded belly. She was our future, was Mae, she and the foal she was carrying. I'd got her from the master of Montague Farms as a yearling, in exchange for a small fortune in rare volumes. She'd grown into a pretty lass, tall and broad as a good draft mare should be, and she'd taken over for Duster when he'd got too old for the job. Breeding her when she was ready for it had been Master Montague's idea. And to his prize, full-blooded Percheron stallion no less. It was a blessing. The foal would be a fine one, maybe worth enough to get us over the sea to Ireland. That was my plan.

Grandad was in good form as well, regaling me with stories of the old country, tales I'd heard hundreds of times but could always listen to once more. He could paint a meadow with his words so I could see it clear as day, or the path through the blighted potato fields from the spring house below the cottage, where we used to live. Thankfully, that day he remembered happier times, from when he was young and courting his Meghan. I'd never known my grandmother, but Grandad talked about her often those days, like he was looking back farther and farther into his life the older he got. I was happy to see him smile, but had to close my ears now and again when he forgot himself and got to remembering personal things that it wasn't my place to hear.

Eventually, I turned the talk around to the countryside we were driving through, the woods and meadows and farms of our adopted nation. He argued it was a land with all the color washed away, that home was greener and brighter. Grandad liked a good argument, and I was glad to humor him. I liked America. It was the only land I really knew, and I thought it was beautiful. Grandad finally patted my knee with a sad shake of his head, and said more seriously than not that it was a crying shame when a man forgot where his roots were laid. I assured him I hadn't forgotten and never would. "You remind me every day, Grandad."

We rolled into Norwood in the early afternoon, and the children not in school or at their chores gathered round to greet us. They knew us well all over those parts, from Newport to Lawrence and as far west as Northampton. We'd come into a town and find a shady place to park the wagon, and I'd see to business while Mae had a feed, while Grandad told his stories for anyone who cared to listen. I'd found a few of the medical texts Doctor Raines was wanting, so I bundled them up and went to see him at his practice. He offered several of his older texts in trade, as well as a couple bottles of liniment for Grandad's rheumatism. The books were outdated, he told me fairly, but I was sure I could find some young apprentice who'd be glad to have them.

I came back to the wagon to find Grandad doing hand tricks for the amusement of the young ones, and a small flock of the local matrons waiting for me. I knew what they were after and brought out my current collection of dime novels, which they chattered over like excited hens. In return for the selection they made, to be passed around no doubt and discussed over tea, I got the previous bundle back, and a fresh baked pear pie. A sweet deal, to my mind.

On the move again, we had the pie for our lunch, with a chunk of hard white cheese and a tall mug of cider drawn from the barrel we carried lashed to the running board. We passed through two more towns in the afternoon, where I did some small trade and picked up the local news. As the sun dipped toward the western tree line, we came to the country estate of the Winchcombes, and I stood Mae under an old oak that overhung the road.

I had to be extra presentable for this stop, so I washed my face and hands and then climbed into the wagon to change into my best suit of clothes, and shine the dust off my shoes. I knew I could probably unload the whole collection on Madam Winchcombe, but I preferred to spread the wealth around, and there were others more worthy. I opened the case and, holding back the ones I'd yet to read, chose three volumes. Balzac, translations from the French. Dry reading, but handsome tomes. The whole collection was in top condition, obviously handled with care and respect. There were some I truly hated to part with.

Mae was munching the graze alongside Master Winchcombe's newly whitewashed fence. Grandad was having a nap. I refilled his cider mug and set it on the wagon seat beside him, then took myself through the gate and up the lane to the house. I put on my best smile for the maid who answered the door. "Good day to you, Emily. If the lady of the house is in, would you tell her it's Sean McGee please, and I've something she might find of interest." Emily smiled and curtsied, though she needn't have just for me. She showed me into Madam's library to wait.

It was a grand house and its library a sight to see, walls of polished wood shelves filled with books. Sadly, I was sure most of them had never been read. They were procured and proudly displayed because they made a pretty picture, and no doubt a marvelous impression on guests, but they weren't valued for what was between their covers. I could not help but look, slowly walking around the room reading the titles, but I never touched. I could have. I waited long enough. But the folks I dealt with trusted me for an honest man, even Madam Winchcombe, and it wasn't in my best interest to betray that trust in any way.

Madam came eventually and was much pleased with what I had on offer. She wanted all three volumes, had just the place for them, and paid me generously, in coin. I had no call whatsoever for complaint, but continued to hope all those books would fall into the hands of more appreciative souls when the Winchcombes went to their maker.

As always, I was glad to be away from there. I woke Grandad to show him my little handful of silver, and he slapped me on the back with a laugh and called me his clever lad, good enough reason to boast a little. The coins went into the safe box in its hiding place in the wagon. I changed back into my everyday clothes, gave Mae an apple and a scratch between the ears, and on we went.

I was looking forward to a good place to camp for the night, a creek ahead that ought to be running well, when a jangling of bells and a pounding of hooves announced a cart or a wagon coming on us from behind, fast. I drew Mae over to the side of the road to give them room to pass by. There were two of them as it turned out, wagons like ours, only painted all in fanciful colors and adorned with carven trim. My attention was caught. "There's some bright for you, Grandad."

The wagons were pulled by a pair of horses each, with bells braided into their harnessing, driven by swarthy men in strange garb. Gipsies, I thought as the first drove by. It wasn't a common sight, but neither was it unheard of for gipsies to be traveling the countryside. The one driving the second wagon, raven haired and mustached, flashed me a dazzling grin as they passed, and damned if I didn't look at the man back.

Then I had my first sight of Lija. He was perched atop the roof of the last wagon, just a slip of a lad he looked to me then, and not like the others somehow, though he was dressed in like manner. He balanced there like an acrobat, the sun catching veins of copper in his long, dark hair as it whipped in the breeze. He held one arm aloft and from his bare hand a great hawk hopped and flew and landed again, testing its wings. It was a sight that lingered in my mind's eye for a very long time, there and gone as they were. When they were almost too far away to be sure, he turned and looked at me, from wide blue eyes in a face as fair as mine, fairer. A face that could launch wars, and capture a man's heart. I know the latter for a fact. But that would be getting ahead of the story.

Grandad was grumbling about folks who'd drive a horse for no good reason but to make a show. Grandad's eyes weren't what they'd been, and I doubted he'd seen what I had.

"It was a band of gipsies, Grandad. With four horses to two wagons, I'd not think they were suffering much for the pace." I could still hear the bells if I listened hard, though they were already out of sight around the next bend.

"Gipsies," Grandad retorted. "Trouble."

I'd heard the tales same as he, but didn't like thinking ill of anyone on hearsay. "Why Grandad, how many gipsies have you known in your life?" He put on a face and wouldn't say. I could best him at this one. "Don't you suppose it's those same folks who put out lies about the gipsies, or the Portuguese or the Jews, that call a man lazy and dishonest for being Irish?"

Grandad said they were vagabonds, the gipsies.

"Aren't we too, Grandad?" I know we started out that way, on the road because we wanted to be, making a living as we could.

Grandad insisted they weren't like us and couldn't be trusted. "We're family, Sean Patrick."

Well, surely they were a family too. Grandad wasn't arguing sense, but I let it go. I thought we weren't likely to see them again at any rate. They were going someplace in a hurry.


	2. Stars

To my surprise on reaching the creek, I found the gipsies had stopped and set up their camp in our place. It wasn't our place really. There was no sign proclaiming that piece of ground Sean McGee's for the taking. But it wasn't usual to find the place occupied ahead of us. I slowed Mae to an easy stroll as we clattered over the bridge, and considered my options. There was space for more than a couple of wagons, and more than one fire pit already dug and stone ringed. It was a common place for travelers to stop. The gipsies had best access to the water, with a stretch of sandy bank, but we'd make do. I guided Mae into the clearing across the road from them, and went about setting up camp.

Grandad wasn't happy. He wanted to go on a bit and find another place to stop, apparently fearing we'd be robbed in our sleep, or worse. I just told him I didn't want Mae working any harder than was needful, and Grandad accepted that. Once she was out of the traces and settled down, I got a fire going and started supper cooking, potatoes and cabbage with a bit of salt pork. While the water was heating for tea, we had a wash from the barrel we had in store, still warm from the day's sunshine. Far better than wading into thigh high brush and then slogging through muck to wash in the cold stream.

It was going to be a chill night. We felt it as soon as the sun dropped below the trees. I got Grandad dried off and bundled into a blanket by the fire as quick as I could, with a hot mug of tea to warm his aching hands. I admit to being distracted by the noise from the gipsy camp; their strange voices, talking in undertones or raised in laughter, the tinkling of bells, a music carried on the smoky air of a fiddle played soft and low. But I kept my nose to my own business as much as I could, at least until Grandad was fed and gone to bed.

I let the fire burn down then, sitting on my log in the shadowy dark, and discreetly watched them. It was hard to be sure as they moved about their camp, but they seemed to be six or seven men. Of women and children, there was no sign, though candlelight shone through a window of one of their wagons.

Lija was easy to pick out. When they finally settled around their campfire and others took up instruments, he appeared with some spotted, cat like creature on his shoulder and proceeded to dance all around the circle of them, while the cat leaped and slithered from arm to arm, to shoulder, to knee, with a grace and timing that was wondrous to see.

I watched him until my fire was faded to embers and I was shivering in the chill, and finally called it a night. It was good to be out under a starry sky again, surrounded by leaf and bough instead of brick and timber. But summer was over and cold nights were coming. I went to check on Mae. She nibbled at my hair and whuffed warm breath on my face, and I told her she was a good lass. Then, with a last furtive glance at the gipsy camp, I lit a candle and took myself into the wagon.

It was still and quiet inside. Grandad appeared to be asleep, buried under his quilts. I carefully climbed up into my bunk above his, and used the candle to light my reading lamp. But I never even opened the book I had waiting. Instead, I unlatched the trapdoor overhead and pushed it back so I could see the stars, and just lay quiet, listening to the music, exotic and arresting, haunting almost. When at long last I closed my eyes, I saw him there dancing round the firelight.


	3. Gossip

I dreamed of bells, but woke to silence. Dawn streamed in through the trapdoor still open above my head, and a cold breeze came with it. I fumbled for the rope to pull it shut, and latched it tight. Grandad didn't need the draft first thing on a chill morning. He was awake, calling me, his voice thin and dry. "I'm up, Grandad." I kicked off the covers I was tangled in, found my trousers, and wriggled into them still lying on my back. With the roof so near, there wasn't a lot of room for maneuvering. Grandad was sitting on the edge of his bunk when I scrambled down, clutching a blanket around him and looking lost.

"Seanie, where've you gone to?"

"I'm right here, Grandad. It's morning." There wasn't much of it coming in the small windows, but it looked like the sun was rising. I got Grandad into his coat and then took his arm to help him out the door and down the steps. There was a nip in the air all right, but the sun would soon warm things up, Grandad included.

The gipsies were gone. Quiet as it was, I'd supposed they must be. I allowed myself a small measure of disappointment, then got on with things. There was the fire to start first thing, tea and porridge to make for our breakfast. Mae got a good helping of barley for hers. There was washing up to do after, as well as teeth scrubbing and shaving. No matter the need I felt to be on the way, I had to be clean and tidy in my line of work.

We had plenty of washing water, but it never hurt to re-fill the barrel when it was convenient. It was an excuse as well, to wander through the gipsies' vacated camp. Their fire trailed a tendril of smoke still, so I dumped a bucket of water over it. Otherwise, there was no real sign they'd even been there. A dream, I told myself, and would have missed it if I hadn't been head down, staring at the ground before my feet as I walked. Nestled into the tall grass at the edge of the clearing was a tiger, a very small one. I stooped and picked it up, entranced. Beautifully carved and painted it was, with tiny golden gems for eyes. Though there was no earthly reason to think so, I felt sure it was his. Fallen from a pocket? It had looked as if placed, ready to pounce out of the grass. But how could anyone discard such a precious thing? I tucked it inside my shirt and kept it a secret, though I can't say why even now.

There was rumor of the gipsies, in one town after another. Folk were talking who had nothing better to discuss, some with mere interest but most with suspicion, glad they'd only passed through and were gone. If asked, I said we'd seen them the night before, but left myself out of the speculating. I could have spoken up for tolerance, but didn't. Sean McGee was a pleasant, easy going fellow, always had been. I liked being liked. Feeling less than noble for not speaking up when I knew I should was the price paid.

Grandad was quiet, not having one of his better days. Rather than listening to myself talk, I spent the drive thinking instead, and it was the gipsies most on my mind. I had to wonder what it was. Curiosity, of course. They were something new I could learn about firsthand. I wouldn't have admitted then that it was Lija drawing me, but I knew I was being drawn. I'd meant to go on to Woonsocket before turning more north, but I learned in Franklin that the gipsies had taken the road to Bellingham. With hardly a thought, I changed my plan. I could do business in Bellingham as well as anywhere.

Of course, they'd come and gone by the time we got there in the early afternoon. Though an urge was in me to pursue them, it would be foolish not to stop. I had particular customers in Bellingham, among those I called on regularly. William Raynor was one, an educated man in his elder years, a retired clockmaker recently become a widower. He was lonely for someone to talk to, I knew, and always engaged me in spirited conversation over his latest reading. I'd learned a great many things from those talks and enjoyed his company, but that day I cut our visit short and told him I needed to get back to Grandad. It was no lie, though it did cause me more than a twinge of guilt. I did sometimes use Grandad as an excuse with folk if I had good reason not to linger. As I did that day.

I told myself it was senseless. They would be so far ahead by then, we wouldn't catch them up if I drove Mae well into the night. But it seemed I meant to try all the same. We were on the road again by the middle of afternoon, headed for Hopedale and taking every short cut I knew along the way. I stopped only once, to give Mae a breather, and to try again to rouse Grandad from his spell. He had them more and more often as time passed, hour upon hour when he sat still and slack-jawed with his eyes locked on nothing, his mind someplace far away. It still scared me, but I was getting used to it in a sad, regretful way. Grandad was getting old. And though he'd always seemed old to me, he'd always been sharp as a whip. I'd never imagined he could start losing himself, as old people sometimes do.

I got through to Grandad enough to finally coax him to have a drink, and to ask if he'd like to lie down inside for a while. He didn't, being stubborn, which I took as a good sign. I promised him supper soon, and sang a round of ditties as we went on. He joined in now and again, getting over it, and I breathed easier.

We came into Hopedale as dusk was gathering, and the town was already bedded down for the evening. Shops were closed, the streets nearly deserted. Lamplight shone from the windows of homes, and aromas of cooking drifted on the breeze. There were certain things that sometimes brought me a thought of settling down. Driving through a sleepy town with night falling was one of them. That night though, it didn't even enter my mind.

We rode on into the twilight, and were barely out of town when I heard the music. To say my heart leaped into my throat would be putting it gently. I hadn't honestly believed I'd ever see him again, and there he was, camped with his people beside the road. They were sitting around their fire, long settled, and took no outward notice of our arrival. Grandad took notice, though he didn't speak of it, only fixed them with a wary stare. I felt a sudden urge to keep going, and not to please Grandad. I wouldn't want them to think we were deliberately tailing them, would I? Even if I was.

Lija made up my mind himself when he looked up as we passed by, the firelight flickering in his eyes, and seemed to smile. I drove the wagon a little way past them and guided Mae off the road. The townsfolk used the field here for auctions and gatherings, and there was a reliable public well at hand, so I'd be able to stock up on good drinking water. It only made sense to choose that place for stopping, just as they had.

It was full dark before I had a fire started and supper on. A clear, cold night. The land was open there, the velvet black sky wide and speckled with stars. The music of the gipsies carried on the crisp air and I let it take me in its arms for a little while. Soft and sad, it was, with that weepy fiddle raising the hair on my nape, and then it would pause and rise again into a jig, or what I'd call a jig if it was played in the Irish way. I thought it a sad pity Grandad couldn't hear their music better. He might find it harder to think ill of them. But he was tired out, I could tell, and not so clear headed. After supper, I helped him into the wagon to bed, tucked him around with all the spare blankets we had, then went back out to clean up.

The music had stopped. There was a murmur of their voices that I couldn't begin to make out. One of the wagons stood between our fire and theirs, so I couldn't see them well. I quietly packed away the pots and dishes and then went to give Mae a well earned brushing. From where I'd staked her, I could manage glimpses of them, but the boy didn't seem to be there. I was craning my neck trying to find him when I heard a rustle in the grass behind me, and jerked around.

There was Lija, looking like he belonged in a dream, standing in the moonshine just beyond the firelight's reach. I'd not yet been so close to him, and he was a sight to see. A handsome lad for sure, get-up as if he'd slipped from the page of a picture book from some far away place, in loose trousers tucked into high boots and a dark, blousy shirt made of some cloth that rippled in the breeze. There was a glint of gold at his throat where his collar lay open, and an air of confidence in his stance, head held high. He seemed less a boy, there and then.

I stupidly stared at him as he stepped from the shadows into the firelight, and looked into my eyes with his.

"Seanie."

With the catch of a needed breath, I corrected him. "Sean. Sean Patrick McGee." I could only guess that he'd heard Grandad call me that. He smiled and nodded, glancing all around.

"Sean Patrick McGee then." His dancing eyes returned to mine. "I am Lija."

And so he was. He spoke to me in very good English, with a rich, rolling accent that still to this day sounds like music to my ears. He was a small fellow, no taller than I, and muscled in a more slender and willowy way. Mae was a big horse. But he walked right up and stroked her muzzle, and she let him. He splayed his hand across her rounded belly and smiled at me.

"You will have a colt."

I may have looked skeptical.

Lija explained that he had a special way with animals. "It is magic."

Having seen him with a hawk perched on his bare hand, I couldn't discount the possibility. But then his hands were scratched and marred with small wounds. If magic it was, shouldn't it protect him? I didn't ask. In fact, I found myself a little tongue tied in his very real presence.

"What do you sell, Sean Patrick McGee?"

I managed to answer, "Books, mostly."

Those eyes of his lit up with interest. "Books for reading?"

Of course. What else? I nodded.

"I cannot read your English… yet," he said with a hint of regret. "But I will learn." He planted a kiss to the center of Mae's forehead and she closed her eyes in rapt appreciation.

Mae took to Lija just like that, when she'd always had a suspicious nature where strangers were concerned. I had to remark on it. "Well, see there. That's an honor she's showing you."

Lija turned a broad smile on me, showing a gap between the front two of his small, even teeth. And he was just a lad, all big eyes and childish delight. I thought it might indeed be magic, and should have been wary, but I couldn't resist. With a mischievous grin, he stepped away from Mae and gave a soft whistle. A chittering sound answered him, and a scurrying in the shadows, and it came leaping into his arms, the cat I'd seen him dancing with around their fire.

"This is Picatel," he said, holding the creature out to me. It wasn't a cat, though it was the size of one and behaved like one, lithely curled in his arms, but alert and curious. I held my ground as it reached out its long, narrow snout to smell at me, snuffling little bursts of hot air over my face. Lija said not to worry. "He will not bite. Picatel likes people, most people. He likes you."

I was glad, and glad as well when he stepped back with the animal. It was like no creature I'd ever seen. Light gray was its coat, with black spots on its sides and rings on its long, brushy tail. It had the face of a coon, only switched, with patches of white over and under its large, round eyes. "A night hunter," I offered. "And not from around here." I cautiously reached out a hand to stroke its sleek fur.

"He is from Spain." Lija's dark brows drew together in a hard frown. "I took him from a man who kept him in a box and starved him to make him hunt." Lija looked into my eyes with all the childishness gone. "Would you do such a thing?"

I said, "No. I don't like to see animals hurt." My reward for that was an approving nod, and the feeling I'd passed a test. I remembered the tiger, though I'd hardly forgotten it. I pulled it from inside my shirt where it had nestled all day, and held it out to him on my hand. "I found this."

Lija took it and, with a slow smile, held it to his cheek. "Warm."

All of a sudden, he was someone else again, meeting my eyes with lashes lowered, in a way that I felt in the pit of my stomach. It took an effort to keep my voice level. "Is it yours then?"

He nodded ever so slightly. "I left it for you."

I was all but lost. A part of me urged that I should bid this young man good evening that moment and never look his way again, but his magic held me and I couldn't take my eyes from his. "Why?"

Lija looked at me long and intently, and a strange sadness crept over his beautiful face. He abruptly looked away. "To see if you would return it to me."

I didn't know what to think of that, or to say to him. I didn't understand.

Picatel slithered onto his shoulders and peered at me from behind the billowing cloud of his dark hair. Lija looked at me again with a gentle smile and crossed his arms over his chest. "It is a game, only. I did not mean to make you… unsettled."

Unsettled was a good word for what I was feeling. But I didn't want him to go. And he stepped away like he meant to. "Wait," I said, because I had to say something. He stopped and gave me his full attention. "I like your music, very much."

He gave me a smile of genuine pleasure, and seemed like the boy again. "You may come to watch. No fee."

I can't say I wasn't enticed by the chance of a little adventure, even knowing it was fraught with danger. I had too practical a head not to consider the possibility these gipsies were less than honest, and that it might all be a set up. But it wasn't a fear that stopped me. I could take care of myself. More than anything else, I didn't want to never see Lija again. That feeling hit me so deep in the gut, it jarred some sense into me, I suppose. I finally declined, saying I had my Grandad to look after, though Grandad was surely sound asleep.

There was no lack of sincerity in Lija's disappointment. I felt from him a regret that might have matched my own. "I am glad to meet you, Sean Patrick McGee."

I stood and watched him walk away into the shadows, thinking maybe I'd narrowly escaped something I wasn't prepared to face, and feeling heartbroken over it. I'd never in my life had a feeling so overwhelming. And I didn't like being overwhelmed, didn't like not having my feet firmly planted on the ground. I couldn't help feeling the loss, deeply, but I could do what was sensible and let him go.

"Seanie?"

Grandad. I turned and found him in the wagon's doorway. From the way his hands clutched the blanket half wrapped around him, I could see they were paining him. I went to take him back inside, and sat him on the edge of his bunk. He said nothing, only looked at me with confusion and concern. It felt like I was eight years old and still believed he knew what I was thinking. We'd never talked about how I was, and wasn't, but I was sure he knew I didn't find women desirable, as I was sure it worried him. He had a way of giving me that fretful look if I seemed to be enjoying too much the company of a friend. And Lija wasn't even one of us.

I took up Grandad's bottle of liniment to see to his poor hands, and swallowed down the regret so I could look into his eyes and mean what I said. "It's nothing, Grandad. He was just curious."


	4. Dream

_Bells ring and I have to cover my ears when the singing starts; it's so big and so sad. I'm dressed in my Sunday clothes and Mam's beside me holding Mackie on her lap, cleaning a smudge from his face with spit and her best hankie. She tells me not to fidget and I try not to. There's tears in her voice and I don't want to make it worse._

_They ring the bells when they put my Dad in the ground, and I run away so Grandad has to come and find me. I have to say goodbye, says he, I'll not get another chance. He holds my hand and takes me back, to the church and the bells and the crying. My Mackie's there, laid to rest in his coffin. Gone, like all of them before._

_Grandad says it's God's choice, but I don't believe him, any more than he believes himself. When we leave the church, we don't go back again. Lost, some say. Grandad says church-going was never his way, that a man has to make peace with his maker in his own way, his own place. I believe him._

_But the bells go on ringing._


	5. Not Enough

I found myself jerked awake in the middle of the night, heavy hearted with the feeling I'd lost something precious. Distant and muffled, there was the tinkling of bells on a gusty breeze. A wind had picked up, rustling the tall grass and whistling around the sharp corners of the wagon. A lonely sound, it was. I pulled my covers over my head, but couldn't shut it out, so lay there awake in a huddle, trying to make sense of the turmoil in my head and the ache in my middle.

I liked to believe myself a reasoning man. I well knew the worth of what was mine. I had a decent living, in an occupation that didn't cramp my soul. I had my books and the wit to appreciate them. And I had the means to spread that wealth to folks who maybe wouldn't have any other brightness in their lives. I had good friends, far and wide, that I knew I could count on if I was ever in need. I had my health and freedom, and my old Grandad beside me.

If there had been anything missing in my life, I hadn't known it until Lija came.


	6. Wish

Awake still as the first faint glimmer of dawn lit the night, I heard them rise in the gipsy camp. I listened intently, straining to hear above the rush of the wind, but no voices reached my ears, only the muffled sounds of stamping horses and creaking rig, and the bells. It was apparently their habit to make no ceremony of setting out in the morning. Before the sun rose, they were gone.

I lay in my bunk tensed to spring until there was no longer any chance of tearing out there to see Lija one more time. Just to hear his voice, though it was in my head still, clear and vivid. I figured I had to count myself fortunate to have met him at all, to have that memory to hold.

I was a lucky man, I well knew. And it would be foolish to tempt fate by longing after things that were beyond my grasp. We'd go on our way, Grandad and me, and it would be all right. I told myself the ache would settle in time, and Lija would be just a fond regret. For all that, I still wished it could have been different.


	7. Market

I deliberately took my time that morning, setting an easy pace. It would have been a falsehood to say Lija wasn't on my mind, but I'd decided I had to be sensible and was doing my best. It was a new day and likely to be a good one, from a business point of view. Only a few hours' drive ahead was the city of Worcester, where I could busy myself with the working of my trade and hopefully have no time for wayward thinking.

It was a cool, blustery day, but clear. The sun shone down on a patchwork of autumn color all along the Blackstone River. I called it to Grandad's notice, and he admitted it was a cheery sight. He asked me where we were going, more alert that day, and I told him, "Worster." It was an old, favorite stop of ours and he remembered it fondly.

Though Worcester wasn't a great, sprawling city like Boston, it had grown by leaps in the past fifteen years, and seemed to my mind more cultured. It was a center of politics and of learning, having all the libraries and colleges Boston had in a much smaller space, and without the shanties alongside. I almost never passed through Worcester without visiting the Antiquarian Society, or stopping to hear a speech or two on the courthouse steps. And Grandad would enjoy a meal and a mug at Casey's Pub. As would I.

We ferried across the river, wended our way through the hills, and came down at last into the city's eastside Irish neighborhood. The sun was nearly high by then, so we stopped in at the pub. Normally, we'd stay a few days in Worcester and meet up with friends of an evening. That time of the day, most were at their work. A couple of elders greeted us. Grandad immediately struck up a conversation so I settled him at their table, while I chatted with Casey at the bar. He asked me if we'd be staying a bit and I found myself telling him no, we'd be moving on through. It seemed I hadn't completely let go.

It was a warm and cheerful place to spend an hour or two, with bowls of thick stew and well buttered bread, and friendly chatter over a mug of ale. But Lija was back in the fore of my thoughts, and I couldn't settle. It was looking as if all that hard won acceptance was just me trying to fool myself. By early afternoon, we were on our way again, headed for the city's main square.

Grandad asked me why I was in such a rush, but I couldn't tell him. It was all nonsense, just me feeling I shouldn't be standing still when Lija was no doubt on the road, drawing further away with every hour that passed. In my sensible mind, I knew how unlikely it was we'd ever catch up to them again. And what if we did? I'd argued it out with myself and knew what was and had to be. The practical man in me couldn't be that irresponsible.

On the square, I dutifully found us a space to park amongst the other vendors at the open market, and put out our shingle. From there, I could walk to see particular customers and to visit the libraries and book shops, always with an eye to finding a good deal. With Grandad in a clearer state of mind that day, I could leave him to watch over things at the wagon. My grandmother, who was a schoolteacher, had taught Grandad how to read and write. It was a fact he was proud of, and it was thanks to his regard for learning that I'd been still in school at fourteen, instead of working a full day on the docks to pay for my keep.

I wheedled him into putting on his spectacles, and made sure he understood which books were valuable and not to be sold on the street, then set out most everything else. Anyone who came for something out of the ordinary would wait until I returned. I changed into my working suit, and went on my rounds. I had several parcels to deliver, and thought I'd be rid of the heaviest first.

On a quiet street off the main square was a large and stately old boarding house with white clapboard and maple trees in the yard. I went up the steps onto the porch, took off my cap and rang the bell, and was let in presently by a young negro woman with a sunny smile, Grace, one of Mrs. Ford's helpers. Mrs. Ford ran the place as a refuge for emancipated slaves coming up from the south to escape the devastation there. She and her small army of volunteers helped them get work and permanent lodging, and ran a school for them. Among other odds and ends, I had a packet of new primers and pamphlets she'd asked me to find, and I meant to let her have them for less than my cost.

Alas, I didn't see Mrs. Ford that day. She was a busy woman. I'd asked her once why she didn't just deal with the booksellers in town and get a quicker return, and she'd said she trusted me, that I had the right attitude. I took that to mean respect for her charges, which was no more than common decency after all. And maybe a little bit of guilt, still, for not going to fight for their freedom. I'd wanted to, because it was a right cause, but Grandad said no with such dire vehemence I wasn't able to gainsay him. We did what we could for the effort, but from the safety of home, and I'd always felt twisted over it.

Grace took me into Mrs. Ford's private drawing room, where I left the bundle of books on a table for her while Grace wrote out a receipt for me to sign. She paid me in greenbacks, which was usual. I smiled and thanked her. Since the war they were harder and harder to keep clear of. I got rid of them at the first opportunity, with the purchase of a dozen volumes of a newly published work of fiction the library had over-bought. They weren't as untrusting of paper money as I was.

It was late afternoon by the time I got back to the market with all my deliveries taken care of. I'd done scant work that day, no more than felt necessary, with the thought always in the back of my mind that we might get a few more miles down the road before nightfall. Grandad was fine. He'd sold a few things and then dozed off. If there were thieves in the crowd, they weren't after books, not those available to be casually pocketed. While Grandad went to buy a few fresh vegetables, I began packing up to move on, regardless there was still a good traffic of shoppers I could have worked.

I wasn't a great believer in fate, in the power of a thing that was destined to happen no matter how many twists and turns a path might take in getting there. But I might have missed it entirely and left town by the wrong way if I hadn't heard the word 'gipsies' uttered in a contemptuous tone. Several men were gathered nearby, eyeing a small poster tacked up under the gaslight. Strange I hadn't seen it, conspicuous as it was amid all the plain, printed notices.

I knew a couple of the men by acquaintance. It should have been an easy thing to just step up and say I'd seen the gipsies on the road and they seemed like good folk. Instead I waited until they'd gone on before going over to have a look.

A splendid thing it was, hand drawn and colored, depicting exotic animals in striking poses and acrobats tossing balls of flame between them, and in the lower right corner against a starry night sky, a gipsy woman dancing. I stood there staring at it with a jumble of thoughts chasing each other through my head. They'd stopped to put on a show. A carefully lettered placard affixed below gave the location and the price, two bits. They were camped out at Newton Hill, just beyond the city limits.

As if there was really a choice to be made, I thought hard about it, then went to find Grandad. He was at the greengrocer's, longingly looking over a display of pickled crabapples in amber jars. They were scarce and pricey, but it felt like a good time for splurging a little. I bought a jar and took Grandad's basket of cabbage and string beans to carry, looking around for the nearest fowler's shop. "What would you say to a chicken for supper, Grandad? We'll be camping early."

Grandad gave me a suspicious sort of look, but I knew he'd relish a few hours off the wagon to just sit by the fire, and a good meal as well. I'd tell him when I had to that we'd be seeing the gipsies again. I wouldn't tell him how elated and scared witless I felt, knowing Lija was there waiting.


	8. Magic

Disdainful of the gipsies as the townsfolk tended to be, a good many of them still came for the show. Pony carts and carriages lined the road to the top of Newton Hill, where a crowd had gathered around the gipsy wagons. I had to squeeze in a place for ourselves well away from the fray, with nary a glimpse of the goings on, but wasted no time settling in. I brought out the hotbed we carried and started our chicken spit roasting over a low fire, then washed up and shaved, myself and Grandad, while a kettle of water heated for a quick cup of tea. I promised Mae some extra attention for later.

I'd talked Grandad into going with me to see what all the fuss was, though he'd grumbled about the cost. I told him it was a special occasion and we wouldn't be making a habit of it. I'm sure it concerned him more that we were chancing upon these gipsies with such unlikely frequency. I just hoped seeing them up close might calm his disquiet. I kept near, in case he should need a shoulder to steady himself, and went at his pace, though it felt inside as if I was running a foot race.

At the edge of the crowd, a gipsy woman strolled about collecting fees. She was a dour faced woman of middle age, dressed modestly, with her dark hair caught up under a red kerchief. She looked so little like Lija it was hard to see how they could be kin. I took out my fifty cents as she approached, but she looked at me and waved her hand, and walked on by. I gratefully returned the coins to my pocket and, with Grandad in hand, slowly made a way for us to a place where we could see what was happening.

It was quite a thing, the colorful costumes and daring deeds. There was no fire being tossed about but three of the gipsy men juggled knives in a triangle between them, a sight that made me cringe. A squat, muscular man in a purple waistcoat and pleated green trousers strutted and waved his arms, declaring in heavily accented, broken English, "Amazing! Spectacular! Wonderous!"

The appreciative oohing and aahing from the crowd was a good thing to hear. They were entertainers and there was nothing frightening about them. Grandad got out his spectacles and put them on, without my having to even ask him. I looked for Lija, stepping up on my toes to get a better view. They'd staked out a ring a short way off where the ground was level and open, and they were pacing one of their horses around it on a lead, while one of them performed acrobatics from its bare back. I knew that one, the one with the piercing dark eyes and the dashing grin. The first one of them I'd seen, before Lija took all of my attention.

I finally spotted Lija under a tree, away from the noise. He had his own audience of mostly women and children, and was apparently in charge of the exotic animals. He was showing off Picatel, doing tricks with him. I took Grandad's arm in mine and said I wanted to show him something, and we made our careful way around the crowd in their direction. Lija had the little beast balanced on top of his head, sitting up with both front paws raised, when the shriek of a hawk split the air. Picatel dove for cover as the great gray hawk I'd seen Lija with that first day came dropping down out of the tree onto his shoulder, so fluffed out and clearly bothered that I feared for the boy. But I needn't have. He held out his hand and the people watching hushed and stood or crouched there still, while he stroked the bird's ruffled feathers and cooed in his throat, and calmed it right down.

The animals were neither numerous nor very fierce, as the poster had promised, but Lija had such a winning way with them, those gathered to watch seemed more than satisfied. He brought the hawk down to perch on his forearm, and quietly explained that he'd found her as a fledgling with a broken wing, but she was all grown up now and would fly away soon.

I slipped in at the edge of the group with Grandad, and Lija saw me and fairly beamed. I was surely glowing like a lantern myself. Grandad wasn't saying much, but he watched and listened with the frown gone from his face. Lija took to imitating the fearsome beasts he didn't have to show, making their calls and acting out their behavior. Snarling tigers and growling bears and screeching monkeys. Grandad laughed aloud at the last. It was a powerful charm Lija possessed.

I had no chance to speak with him. All of a sudden dusk was falling and they were lighting the torch poles. Lija cast me a regretting look and set about taking his animals away to no doubt settle them for the night. Carts and carriages were leaving, bearing off a major part of the crowd. The gipsies built up a blazing fire to warm those who remained, then took to their instruments and the music began.

I watched Grandad's face as he heard it, as he puzzled out the strangeness of it and slowly smiled. Good music was good music. When Lija reappeared with a fiddle of his own and joined the others, I felt as if I'd been lifted on wings. I could have stood there watching him and listening all night forever. But Grandad was leaning, on his feet for too long, and our supper was waiting.


	9. Too Much

The music drifted on a wild breeze, clear and fine one moment and then gone. Voices were raised in song and then snatched away before I could quite catch the words. I listened as I brushed the dust out of Mae's coat, but couldn't pick out Lija's. Grandad sat in his chair by the firebed cradling a mug of tea in his hands. I finished taking care of Mae and went to sit on the trampled ground beside him. "Can you hear the music, Grandad?"

He nodded slowly, gazing into the last of the fire. "Aye, Seanie, now and again."

"It's nice, don't you think? You've got to admit they're not so bad as you thought."

He raised his bushy eyebrows at me. "I'll admit such when we've seen the last of them and are none the worse for it."

I couldn't suppress a sigh.

Grandad put a hand on my back and patted it. "They do put on a grand show. You're a good lad to make me go and see." He gripped my shoulder and levered himself up. "Now I'm going to bed, and you'll not be needing to watch over me."

I moved to get up and help him inside but he waved me back, with a last look over his shoulder on the steps.

"You mind yourself, lad."

It wasn't the glad approval I might have wished for, but I had to see Lija again. I finished with the cleaning up and putting away as quickly as I could, then made off through the darkness toward the lights of the gipsy camp.

The fiddles had fallen silent and a hush was over the watchers, a lone flute piping a spirited tune. Lija was dancing. I quietly found a place out of the way and watched him with my heart beating double time. It was hardly what the poster had promised, but I heard no grumbling from the audience. It wasn't a sultry dance but more one of leaps and spins and fancy footwork. Yet there was beauty in it beyond anything I'd ever seen, in the gracefulness of his hands and the point of his toe, in the way his body played to the music. He wore a shirt of the most incredible color. Deep, dark blue, it was. And his eyes shone like gems in the flickering torchlight.

There was nothing carnal about it, but watching him made my every nerve tingle. Even dressed in loose and flowing cloth there was no mistaking Lija for a woman, but the other watchers seemed as affected as I, when they likely had wives at home, most of them. Lija was desirable, in every way, in any guise. His magic eyes found mine and my body reacted. I had no will over it. I thought of these other men gaping at the boy with similar feeling and felt a terrible shame.

This wasn't what I wanted. With my hands firmly planted in my coat pockets, I dragged myself away and went walking.

It was the puzzle of all puzzles, how to know what he meant when he looked at me like that. Was it really just a game to him? He'd said it was, but it hadn't felt that way to me. But I was a fool with far too little experience of such things. I could be seeing just what I wanted to see and nothing else.

For an hour or two, maybe more, I wandered the sleeping streets of Worcester, trying to sort through questions that had no answers. I had to finally give it up and go back. Trudging up Newton Hill at last, I listened ahead but there was only the silence of deep night. The townsfolk were all gone back to their homes. When I passed by the gipsy camp, one figure sat alone in the smoky air from their dying fire. It wasn't Lija but that other one. He watched me pass, I know. I could feel his eyes on me.

I'd clung to a small fantasy that Lija might be lurking about our wagon, wanting to talk to me, but he wasn't. Exhausted in mind and body, I took myself to bed to get some sleep.


	10. Library

I half woke, comforted by a sound of bells in the distance. I'd opened the sky window and left it open, again. It was full morning, later than I was in the habit of sleeping. It took my groggy mind a little while to catch on. It was full morning and the bells were jingling. The gipsies hadn't left.

I pulled the trap door down to shut out the chill. If they hadn't gone before first light, they must mean to stay and do another show. I could take the wagon back into town and do at least a half-day's proper business, and feel better about things.

It was very quiet. I roused myself to roll around and peer over the side of my bunk to check on Grandad, and he wasn't there. Lickety-split, I was dressed and down and out the door. Grandad had wandered off a couple of times when he wasn't in his right mind. But he was only sitting there having a cup of tea, beside a fire he'd had to make for himself. I fed it up and refilled the kettle so I could at least make him breakfast.

"You were away til the wee hours."

I knew if I looked into his eyes, he'd know every secret I kept, so I didn't. "I was walking, Grandad. I had things to ponder." He thankfully didn't ask me if I'd 'minded myself'. I don't know what I could have answered, or even if I knew for sure what he meant.

There was a brisk wind blowing, gray clouds scudding across the blue sky. They were busy over in the gipsy camp trying to set up a tent, it looked like. They were too far away to see well, so I made an effort not to try. I had my own troubles that morning. There on top of the hill in the open, the wind was fierce. One of the barrels we carried had been ripped half off its mooring and had to be secured again before we could set out.

The sun was well up by the time I had Mae hitched to the wagon and Grandad settled for the ride. I drove by the gipsy camp slowly but saw no sign of Lija, and had no choice but to go on. Only a few minutes later we came upon him on the road, headed into the city on foot. He looked around and put on a big smile, and I was overcome with doubt all over again. Mae stopped on her own to get a scratch between the ears from the boy, and there we were.

For too long, I stupidly just looked at him, standing there in a coat that was too big for him, staring up at me with his boyish face on, eager and sincere. Grandad nudging me hard in the ribs finally loosed my tongue. "Lija, this is my Grandad." I turned to him, beseeching him to be kind. "Grandad, this is Lija."

Lija clambered up onto the running board to reach out his hand across my knees. "Good day, Grandad."

To my great relief, Grandad took his hand and gave it a good shake. I offered the boy a ride into town. How could I not?

Lija politely said he was pleased and grateful, and climbed aboard. "Oh." He bounced a couple of times, clearly admiring the deeply padded seating. I'd had it specially made to spare Grandad's old bones, but I was plenty glad of it myself. Lija wiggled a little, settling comfy, right up against my side. "Did you like our show?"

I just managed to nod, twitching the rein to get Mae started again. "I did. And Grandad did too. Didn't you, Grandad?" Grandad pretended his attention was elsewhere, but I knew he was listening to every word.

Lija asked me if we were going to the market square and I said we were. "To sell books?"

I nodded. "That's always the hope."

He looked into my eyes, too close, softly smiling. "Ask me a question, Sean, and I will answer."

Games again? I had questions in abundance, but the important ones couldn't be asked with Grandad right there. So I asked him about the other gipsies, his people. "Are they your family?"

Lija seemed pleased to tell me about them, Uncle Javert and his cousins. "Jivin, Cam, Gillie, Dukker," he ticked them off on his fingers, "Terkari." His face squinched on the last, then softened again. "And Mamou."

"Mamou…" I hazarded a guess. "Your mother?"

He gave a shrug. "Mamou is just Mamou." He looked at me thoughtfully, "I should not say, but," leaning close, "Mamou says I was sent to them from the heavens. On a beam of moonlight." He abruptly laughed, with a broad grin and that twinkle in his eye, only teasing. Still, gazing on him, I could believe it was possible.

I asked him how he'd learned to speak English better than a good many who were born to the language. He said he talked to people everywhere, to anyone who would talk to him back, and he learned by listening. "There was an English gentleman on the boat when we crossed. He told me many tales."

I couldn't help imagining that, thinking of the men watching him as he danced the night before. Thinking it all wrong, I hoped. "Was it long ago you were on the sea?"

A wistfulness came over him. "It has been more than a year since we left Barcelona. Have you come from another country too, Sean?"

I said, "Ireland, but when I was just a lad. I've lived in America most of my life. I'd love to see Spain one day." And a good many other places as well.

Lija talked about favorite places he'd been all over Europe, with an enthusiasm that made me wish I could go and see such things, with him. Grandad stopped pretending he wasn't listening. We reached the square much too soon and Lija hopped down from the wagon before the wheels had stopped turning. "I am to collect the banners. I will see you later." Then he waved and was gone.

It felt as if the sun went away. I did what I had to do, but spent the rest of the morning watching for him to come back more than working. Grandad had to bring my head down from the clouds, reminding me those books weren't going to sell themselves, which I knew perfectly well. Chastised, I took one of the lot of new novels I'd purchased the day before, and set to reading the first chapter aloud.

I soon had a fair audience and had to repeat it. I hadn't done more than glance over a few pages to assess the skill of the author before buying, and didn't like to push something I hadn't read. But I made it clear to anyone wanting a copy that I hadn't yet reached the end and couldn't vouch for it being a good one. It went well. I sold four of the dozen copies I had. And when I looked up on finishing the third reading, Lija was there watching and listening with a rapturous smile on his face.

I closed the book, and sold another copy, then helped a woman choose a gift for her son-in-law who liked stories of the sea. By the time I'd run out of customers, Lija had made himself comfortable and was showing Grandad one of the posters for their show. Grandad had his spectacles on and was looking it over and nodding.

"Mamou makes them," Lija said and smiled at me.

I filled mugs of cider for the three of us and then sat on the wagon roost beside him to admire the poster. "Your Mamou is an artist."

That pleased him. He spread the picture out on his lap and smoothed the tattered corner where the gipsy woman danced amid the stars. "It is different now. Mamou has not danced in a long time, and they stopped throwing flame after Cam's hair caught fire one night. And we never did have a tiger or a hippopotamus. We had a bear for a while, but I took him to the forest and set him loose. We could not have brought him over on the ship anyway. He was not happy chained."

What an amazing life he'd lived. "It's wonderful, Lija." Mamou's picture, I suppose I meant. He rolled it up and handed it to me with a big smile.

"You may keep it. People take them sometimes. Mamou will make more."

I was understandably a little overcome. "Are you sure, Lija?" He was. I bid him wait a moment while I went into the wagon in search of just the right book, because I wanted to give him something too. It was a hard choice to make in the space of a few heartbeats, but I settled on Leaves of Grass, my own personal, well-worn copy. I emerged triumphant with the book in hand, and offered it to him.

He hesitated. "I cannot read it."

"But you'll be able to someday. You said so."

He gave in and took the book, openly pleased and grateful. "Thank you, Sean."

I thanked him in return, probably with more fervor than was called for, and there was Grandad, looking like that, worried for me. It was hard to take after things had seemed to be going so well. "Grandad." I sat down beside him and gently patted his knee. "Would you like to go to the library, Grandad?" He liked the library and hadn't been to one in a long while. "We could all go." I looked at Lija and saw his whole face light up.

Grandad gave me a looking at and said he'd stay with the wagon. I told him he didn't need to. We could close up for an hour. But he wouldn't budge. "You go on." And mind yourself. I heard him saying it.

The city library was just across the main street a way, a majestic building set on a rise of the land, with broad steps leading up to double doors carved in fancy filigree. Lija was in awe, I could tell, before he even laid eyes on the inside. I couldn't fail to see that he felt self-conscious as well, as if he thought he didn't belong there. I reassured him as I could, taking it all very casually, the venerable halls and grand, open spaces.

Knowing my way around a library, I pretty quickly found their collection of works on animals and nature, and one in particular I'd heard about but not seen. It was a picture book of birds intricately drawn and colored by a painter named Audubon. I took it from the shelf and opened it out on a table, and we looked at it together, slowly turning the pages on one beautiful plate after another. Lija uttered little sounds of excitement and praise, and pointed out ones that he'd seen himself in person, a great many more than I could say I'd seen.

We found a small drawing of Picatel in another book. A common genet, it said he was. It seemed astounding to me that such a creature could be common to some folks. But Lija said he'd never imagined an opossum until he came to America and saw one for himself. And he assured me that Picatel was not common even among his kind. I got out my notebook and pencil, and jotted down titles of the books Lija seemed to enjoy most, for just in case.

I could have spent the rest of the day there with him but I'd told myself an hour, and that had come and gone. Lija finally asked me if I thought it was growing late, not as if he wanted to go, but we decided we should. We were crossing the main lobby to leave when an officious looking gentleman stepped in front of us and demanded we halt.

"Is that a book in your pocket, boy?"

Lija froze, a stark look in his eye. Everyone in hearing turned and stared. I stepped up to the man, outraged but doing my best to be calm. "Sir, it belongs to him."

The man was unconvinced and pushed his way past me, keeping his eye on Lija as if he thought the boy might bolt. "Let me see it. And those scrolls, what have you got there?"

I could see Lija wanting to take out the book and his posters and hand them over. It could all be so easily explained. But I told him no. They'd never have accosted him like that if he was any other visitor. "I'm known and trusted in this establishment, sir. My name is Sean Patrick McGee and this young man is my guest."

"Sean." Lija got around me and explained for himself, unrolling the posters to show the man. "These are banners from our show that I took down this morning. I gave one to my friend and he gave me this fine book."

The man took the book from Lija's hand and I had to clench my teeth. He opened it, checking for a library seal, then handed it back and waved us on without another word. I wanted to demand an apology, but Lija took my arm and urged me away. I'd invited him to share one of my favorite places with me and he'd been treated like a thief. I was so ashamed and angry I could hardly speak. But he seemed to want it forgotten.

"It is all right, Sean, these things happen." We stopped on the steps outside and he gave me a sorrowful look. "I must get back. They will be ready to go."

My heart skipped. "You're leaving? Now?"

"I must. I have made them wait already so I could see your library, and Javert wishes to reach a place called Florence in two days' time. There is to be a big fair and we will meet there with other caravans."

Florence was just west of Northampton, and I knew of the fair. I'd thought we'd miss it this year, but perhaps not. My mind raced ahead. If they could be there in two days, it would take Grandad and me at least three.

"We will camp there for many days."

I looked into his eyes and nodded. We'd get there. His dark hair whipped and wisped about his face in the breeze and I wanted to touch it. Of course, I could do no such thing, even if I'd known he wanted me to. Too many eyes to witness. Too many who'd think the worst.

Lija stared back at me with regret but hope too. "I looked for you last night."

He'd looked for me. After I'd walked out on him. That was a bitter pill. "I'm sorry." More sorry than I could say. He shook his head, and put on a smile as he stepped back.

"I thank you for today, Sean."

And he was gone. I spoke to the emptiness he left behind. "Good journey, Lija."


	11. Bad Weather

The heavens opened up and it rained for most of four days straight. The roads went to ruin, rutted with mudholes and nigh impassable at times. Streams and rivers swelled their banks and washed out bridges, sending us far out of our way to find safe crossing. Every time we had to backtrack and take another road added hours and then days to the trek, and I nearly despaired of getting through at all. If I hadn't known Lija would be there waiting, we would have holed up somewhere to wait it out.

Grandad thought we should stop. He wanted to know what was pushing me so. I told him we needed to get to Northampton in time for the fair, and that was true enough. A big fair was an opportunity to do brisk business. Others in my trade would be there. A chance for much buying and selling and swapping. Fresh stock. Eager customers. Since we'd come this far, I told Grandad, it would be a shame to miss it. Of course, there was business that could be done along the way as well that I was letting slip by.

We spent fourteen hours on the road most days, driving through the chill rain. Slogging along at a creep, it felt like to me. Mae was complacent about it, in her good natured way. I did what I could for her, spread an oilcloth across her back and fixed shields to her harness to keep the rain out of her eyes, and she plodded on without complaint.

Grandad didn't complain either, not really, but he insisted on sitting next to me when he could have been comfortable in the wagon. I made sure he was bundled up and had something hot to drink as often as I could manage it. We'd pause once each day at an inn, for a good meal beside a warm fire, and then drive on again into evening. When we finally stopped, it was an hour in the dark rigging a shelter for Mae and giving her the rubdown she'd earned. Cold supper then, shivering in damp clothes. Getting Grandad into bed and then falling into bed myself, too tired to even dream.

Had it been much colder, the situation could have been dire. The very air was drenched and the damp seeped into everything. But it continued mild for the season, so we steamed in the daytime, even as the rain fell. Poor Mae smelled like a wet horse smells, and Grandad and me weren't much better off. At least we weren't in danger of freezing. For us, it could have been a lot worse. The trouble was, it put my books in peril.

I'd seen to the pitch sealing of the wagon myself before we left Boston and it wasn't about to leak. But the damp couldn't be kept out. Everything that wasn't already wrapped and pressed had to be seen to immediately, late on the first night out from Worcester. Grandad helped me with the task. He seemed more his old self with crisis looming and I was glad to see him take a hand in the work.

Disaster seemed to follow a step behind us the whole way. On the second day from Worcester, we bogged down in a quagmire and nearly lost a wheel. Mae finally pulled it free as I coaxed her from ahead, knee deep in mud and pelted by a driving rain. Then on that same day, we tried fording a stream I was sure couldn't be more than two feet deep, when it was closer to four and running hard. We could have lost the whole wagon, and maybe our lives, but somehow made it across. Mae got an extra, double ration of her favorite meal that night, and plenty of praise.

On the third day, we came to Three Rivers and found the whole town flooded. Folk were gathered on the hill slopes above the valley with their carts of belongings and their makeshift tents. I spoke to them and offered to take word to the next town that they were in need, but they'd already sent their own messengers. There wasn't much else I could do.

We followed the main river on from there but took the high road. It was in little better shape than the river road below, and twisted and turned a great deal more, but it was less open so we had the cover of the wood, for what that was worth. I let Mae pick our way along the rutted, mucky lane and she did a better job of it than I had. We made it almost to Chicopee Falls that day, and camped that night high in the hills, to a distant sound of the river rushing by and a steady dripping in the trees.

On the morning of the fourth day, Grandad woke sniffling and throatsore, and announced in a rough voice that the rain was about finished, he was thinking. I put him back to bed and spent the next hour and more sitting out in a fresh downpour, nursing enough of a sheltered fire to get a pot of water hot, so I could fix him a cup of honeyed tea and something warm to eat. I told him as forcefully as I could that he was to stay in bed, inside where it was dry. He didn't argue with me about it, as he would have if he was feeling up to snuff.

I spent the day alone, driving through the forested hills in a gray drizzle, thinking of Lija. I hoped they'd gotten through all right, though I'd harbored all along a little wish that we'd round a bend and find them there, forced to stop and wait. That would have pleased Lija. If I closed my eyes, I could see his smile, the one that seemed just for me. At times, the mere longing for that was what kept me going.

From mid-morning into late afternoon, climbing the Holyoke pass and then descending on the far side, there was not a village or even a way stop. We met no one, not a single soul. I felt very small and unimportant in that high, wild land. And vulnerable too, though all went as well as could be expected. As we made our way down around a winding, cliff-hanging stretch of the road, a brightness pierced the clouds to the west. The sun. Squinting, I turned my face to its warmth and realized the rain had stopped.

Another hour and we came to a small town at the foot of the hills where I could rest Mae and see to Grandad. He was feeling no worse, he said, and wanted to be out. There was an inn, mercifully, where I could get us a badly needed bath and then a hot meal, and the latest news. The way was clear to Northampton, they said. The bridge over Mill River was holding, thus far. The fair had started the day before, they'd heard, everyone getting through who could. We were asked how we'd fared on the road, and I told them Three Rivers was under water, but that we'd managed well enough.

It would have been tempting to linger. It was early, hours before nightfall, but the rain had truly stopped and it was time I tried getting things dried out. I drove the wagon to the outskirts of town and we stopped there for the night. I got a good fire going first thing and strung rope lines from the wagon into the trees, then washed out our clothes and hung everything to dry. There was still too much damp in the air, but a good wind was blowing out of the west and that would help.

With the sun shining outside, it felt chill and clammy in the wagon. I left Grandad out by the fire with a cup of tea, while I aired things out and wiped up any lingering wet. I'd left Lija's circus poster rolled and loose, tucked up on the little shelf over my pillow. It was limp and curling at the corners, but it was made from good heavy paper and would be all right once everything dried out. I opened the trap door above as I'd opened the windows below, to get some air flowing through the place. Then I took a little while to stretch out on my bunk with the poster spread open.

Barring any further mishap, we should be in Northampton by noon of the next day. The fairground was west of the city, Florence a mile or two down the road. Lija would be there with the rest of them, waiting. Their campfires would be lit, their music drifting on the breeze, bells merrily jingling. I missed the bells.


	12. Fair

Morning dawned clear and we set off in good spirits. The roads were less washed out this side of the hills, the countryside less drowned and battered. It seemed the worst of the storms had passed more to the east. Grandad sat beside me again on the drive. He was clearly stuffed up in the head, but said he was fine, and it was a mild, sunny day. It was better for him outside than in.

Mill River was well over its banks but the bridge was still standing in good stead. I watched a couple of heavy carts cross ahead of us to be sure. By noon, we were on the well kept and nearly dry streets of Northampton, making our way through the city. We'd been there a good many times, though Northampton was as far west as we regularly went. It was a thriving city, and exciting in its way, but I hardly saw it that day. The need to get where we were going overpowered most everything else on my mind.

The fair was under way, and there was a great deal of traffic both coming and going on the road to Florence. The river flowed by a quarter mile from the road and between lay a space of flatland, presently taken over by a sea of tents and wagons and temporary shelters. It seemed chaotic, aswarm with fair goers as it was, but there was a plan at work and I was told the venders circle was full. I had to find us a spot on the outskirts, not good for business, but there was the gipsy camp within sight across a broad meadow, just down the river a way.

I couldn't have seen anything from that distance if I'd stood and peered, and Grandad was leaned against my side having a nap. I wanted to go running off there and then to find Lija, but had to be sensible. There were gipsies on the open meadow, working their horses. I could hear a tinkling of bells if I listened hard. Lija was there somewhere. I could wait a little longer.

I drove our wagon off the road to join those others who'd no doubt arrived late. The ground was all a trampled muck from the weather and the river was high, flooding the grassy bank. In the shallows there, it looked like several boys were wading, playing at spear fishing or just playing. I caught sight of something that leapt and splashed down again in a flash of silver gray, jauntily waving a brushy, black-ringed tail.

My heart beat faster. It was Picatel, and of course Lija was there with him. The boy turned and straightened and threw up his arms. I couldn't see his face but I could picture that smile in my mind. He came sloshing out of the water, his boots off and his pantlegs knotted up to the knees, with Picatel at his heels. Mae trod on, picking up speed as they came to meet us.

"Sean," Lija called, and I shouted right back, "Lija!"

Grandad woke with a breathy gasp, "Lija," and jerked out a hand like he thought he was falling.

I took his arm to steady him until he could get his bearings. "We're here at the fair, Grandad. We've made it."

Lija trotted up to Mae and she stopped in her tracks to greet him, snorting loudly and nudging him in the chest. He stroked her forehead and gave her a kiss, then came and hopped up onto the step in his bare feet, grinning. "I am so happy to see you, Sean. I have watched and waited."

I had to catch a breath, as if I'd been the one running. "I'm so glad to finally be here. We had a time of it."

Lija looked up into my eyes, shining like a star, from the inside out. "The storms were very exciting but I was afraid you would not be able to come."

I told him I'd feared so myself a time or two. "But here we are at last." We just smiled at each other, Lija and me, until Picatel leapt up onto Lija's shoulder and shook wet all over us.

Grandad swore. "The devil take us, what manner of skunk be that?!"

I had to laugh. "That's Picatel. He's a genet, from Spain. He's Lija's. You remember Lija, Grandad. From Worster, before the rain."

Grandad said, "Aye," and sneezed. He seemed to have lost his handkerchief so I gave him mine.

Lija leaned across me with a worried frown. "Do you have a chill, Grandad? Mamou has a cure. I will ask her to make some for you."

Grandad looked at the boy like he'd been offered poison. "Nay, thanks. I'm right enough, young man."

I gave Lija a grateful look and shook my head a little. "He'll be fine for a few days of sunshine and good rest." I hoped. I patted his knee. "Are you hungry, Grandad?" He didn't say he wasn't. It was the middle of afternoon and we'd been going since early morning.

I gave Mae a shake of the rein, and Lija rode along as we went on and found a good spot to park the wagon. It was mostly open field, so there wasn't much of a choice to make. I took us fairly near the river and hoped the water wouldn't rise too much further. If it did, we'd just have to move. Not a great hardship.

We had neighbors near, several peddlers' wagons. A cheesemonger nearest, it looked like, a cobbler and a chandler. No one I knew, though I could make use of some of their services while we were camped together. I tipped my cap to a young woman with a baby on her shoulder who was tending a cookpot nearby. She gave us a wide eyed look, but nodded back.

Picatel leapt to the ground and Lija followed, circling the wagon to pronounce it level. I set the brake and helped Grandad down. He was a little stiff from the ride so I walked him around a bit, then made him a comfortable place to sit and brought out the firebed to see to making tea. By then, Lija had his boots on and Mae out of the traces. I fixed her a feedbag and then joined him to give her a good rubdown. She was looking good, Lija said, after the trip we must have had. I told him she'd been the one to pull us through. "Our Mae is a blessing."

Lija patted her shoulder and gave her a good looking over. "The colt will be born in winter."

I guess it was fairly obvious. "Not the best of planning, I know, but Mae came into season early and the circumstances were right. The man who bred her for me invited us to be there at his farm for the birthing, so she'll have a warm stall and expert care if anything goes wrong. It's her first time."

Lija nodded reassuringly. "She is strong and healthy. And she will know what to do when the time comes."

It had to be hoped, since I knew very little of such things myself.

Lija gave me a soft, sweet smile as we were putting away the brushes. "Mamou knew you would come."

"Did she?" I gave him a smile back. "Is your Mamou a fortune teller also?"

"Sometimes," he said.

Grandad was watching us, or I might have reached out and touched Lija that very moment. Just a friendly touch, maybe a pat on the shoulder. The lord knows I wanted to. "Have supper with us, Lija. If you'd like."

Lija looked regretful. "I would like, Sean, but I must go and see Javert." He glanced around me at Grandad, stepping very close. "Can you come, later, please?"

I didn't think about it, only nodded. The way he looked into my eyes forestalled any excuse I might make.

"I will meet you, Sean, at sunset."

I nodded again. He stepped back, whistling at Picatel to come. Then he waved at Grandad and set out across the meadow for the gipsy camp. I watched him go, until he stopped turning back to wave and finally disappeared from easy sight.

I went to see to supper at last, and to deal with our neighbors. The candle merchant had returned from his day's work with his more special wares on a hand cart, and wandered over to introduce himself. Franklin Humbold, he was, and he'd been on the road from Worcester when the storms hit. They'd had a struggle getting through, as we had. His wife, the young woman to whom I'd wished a good day earlier, was taking in laundry at ninepence a hamper load, if I was interested. I told him thanks and I'd keep that in mind.

We talked for a while but my thoughts were elsewhere, on watching the sun slowly sink toward the hills. When Grandad had a fit of coughing, I took the opportunity to excuse us, and Franklin Morris went back to his own wagon.

It was just as well Lija hadn't stayed, because supper was nothing special. I imagined he must be used to more exotic fare, and thought I should at least procure a chicken and some fresh vegetables before I invited him again. As it was, we had very little of anything fresh, almost a week since our last market stop. That night, it was barley broth and bacon, with a loaf of bread that had seen better days.

Out of the blue, in a faint and raspy voice, Grandad said, "I know, Seanie. I know you think I don't but I do."

I made myself look up and meet his eyes, and knew just exactly what he was saying. I fixed him a fresh cup of tea with extra honey, then brought him his soup, and sat down beside him with mine. "I never thought you didn't know, Grandad. It just didn't seem a thing we could talk about."

He just nodded a little, staring into his bowl.

Maybe we still couldn't talk about it. "Grandad, you know I'm not a regular sort of fellow. I never was. Placid and bookish, you used to call me that yourself. I'd always rather read to mum or play with the little ones than rough and tumble with other boys my age. I wasn't like them. I'm not like other men."

"I know that well enough, Seanie," Grandad said, laying his hand on my knee. "You're the best lad a grandad could have by his side." I could see it was a struggle for him, but I let him get it out on his own. "But I always hoped… may be some day… for your own sake…."

I put my hand over his, my chest tight and aching. "I don't know why I'm like this, Grandad, but it isn't something I can change." It was a struggle for me too. "I don't fancy the lasses. I'm never going to settle down to a normal life with kids and a wife and all the rest of that." He said nothing, but I knew what he was thinking, that I would be the last of his line. But he'd known that all along, hadn't he? Maybe he thought I could do it if I wanted a family bad enough. Maybe he was tired and wanted to settle down himself. "I know it's not fair to you, Grandad, rattling your poor old bones day after day."

"My old bones have got nothing to do with it, lad. I chose this life for the both of us. And a good life it's been, hasn't it?"

I couldn't say otherwise. "It's the life for me, Grandad, so long as you're not sick of always looking ahead over the next hill." He took his hand from mine with a snort. I told him supper was getting cold and we'd better have it, but the discussion wasn't over. Once begun, it had to be finished.

"What about this gipsy boy?"

This was harder yet, because I didn't fully understand myself about Lija. "I like him, Grandad." No, I had to do better than that. "He wakes something in me, something that makes me want to do all the things I used to dream of." Grandad was silent, waiting. I got a little defensive. "There's nothing wrong with dreaming. You said so yourself."

Grandad sighed. "Nay, lad, but dreaming more often leads to sorrow than else." He paused to draw in a breath, and dropped his voice even lower. "You can't chase after him forever. He'll be going on again and then what?"

A chill ran up my spine. Grandad had been more himself lately, that was certain, but I'd not imagined he understood so well what I was facing. I helplessly shook my head. "I don't know, Grandad. But I need to find out."


	13. Sunset

The sun was dropping behind the western hills as I set out across the open meadow. Grandad was abed and, in spite of that niggle of worry I'd harbor until I got back to be sure he was all right, the night was mine. The sky looked on fire, ribboned with high, soft clouds all burnished amber beneath, as if hung over the embers of a great firebed beyond the peaks. I almost stopped to stare. I did pause for just a second, then hurried on. When the ground became trampled and rutted with horse tracks, I skirted round toward the river's edge, and met Lija coming to find me.

We stopped there to stand and watch the sun go down, talking quietly about how the flowing of the river made the mountains' reflections seem to grow and creep across the water, and about why the peepers sing only at dusk, and about Grandad.

"I think your Grandad does not like me, Sean."

There was real hurt in his voice, and I couldn't have that. "In fact, Lija, I think he does like you. He's just trying hard not to." I believed that was the truth of it.

"Why?"

I shrugged. "Because he's old and crotchety sometimes, and he worries about me."

Lija seemed taken aback. "Does he think I would harm you? I would not, Sean, ever."

I didn't believe for a moment that he would, but I was unaccountably moved to hear him say so.

"Well," he slowly smiled, "I will change Grandad's mind."

It was a cool night and he had on his heavy coat, the one that was too big and made him seem childlike. He crossed his arms over his chest with just his fingertips peeking from his sleeves, and looked at me with the sunset in his eyes, his creamy skin all warm and golden. I wanted to never look away. He reached out and touched my hair where it stuck out in its unruly way, then he tapped the brim of my cap, with an appraising tilt of his head.

"Do you wear this always?"

Not always. "I don't wear it to bed."

Lija laughed. "I am glad to know that."

More than a little embarrassed, I snatched it off my head and stuffed it into my pocket. "Is that better?"

He rumpled my hair all up and then stood back to look at it, grinning. "Yes!"

I was pleased he was pleased, truly. And my fingers were itching to touch him in turn. He did it so casually, and there I was trembling in the knees. I couldn't. The smoldering sky turned a rich, molten gold and then deep dark russet red, and the night began to settle in.

"Would you like to meet Mamou, Sean?"

I shook myself, and gave him a smile. "Sure."

We went on toward the gipsy camp as twilight gathered. I heard the bells well before we got there, and made out the twinkling of campfires. There must have been twenty wagons or more, clustered here and there through the wood. A lantern loomed ahead, and voices. Several gipsies were there with the horses. A couple of men speaking English seemed to be haggling with them over a price.

Lija steered us clear of them, leading as we wended our way among the wagons, rustling through the fresh dry leaves under the trees, passing the campfires where the womenfolk were. The pungent smells of their cooking got up my nose and made it twitch. Lija breathed it in and asked me if I was hungry. I said, probably too hastily, that I'd had a good supper. I'd told myself I was up for trying new things, but I still thought a measure of caution was in order.

We came to a clearing where a large stone-ringed fire had been built, and logs and folding chairs brought for sitting around it. This is where the men were gathered, a great number of them, playing their music. It still put me in a sort of spell to hear it, and I was glad to stand and listen a while. But Lija snatched at my sleeve and pulled me onward, until a man stepped into the way and spoke to him in an entreating way.

Lija interrupted to introduce me to him, Cam, one of the cousins. He bobbed his head in my direction, then spoke to Lija again, more urgently. Lija made a sour face. "My uncle wants me. Come, Sean." His manner made me wary, but I went along.

In person, without an audience to entice, Javert was not comical. He was loud and imperious, and he ignored me completely. I suppose I was glad enough of that, but I knew a snub when I saw one. They were pouring some clear spirit into tiny glasses, and he offered one to Lija. Lija crinkled his nose but took it, and offered it to me.

"If you like, Sean."

A swallow of something might have helped to calm me down but I politely declined, following his lead, I hoped.

Lija gave the glass back to Javert, and moved to depart. Javert caught his arm and held him there. My teeth clenched. But Lija seemed unintimidated. He pulled his arm free and spoke quietly to the man, who finally laughed and waved his hand in apparent dismissal. The whole thing made my shoulders ache, but this was Lija's world and I had to believe he knew his way in it. He went on around the fire to where Cam was, with the other cousins. They mostly ignored me as Javert had, but not without a curious glance or two, and they greeted Lija with joking and affection, I was sure.

They were cooking, roasting bits of meat on metal spits. Lija took out a cloth from his coat pocket and pulled a couple of them from the fire to bring along as we went on, and I couldn't manage to decline. I couldn't say what kind of meat it was, something heavily salted and spiced. The first bite shocked my senses, but it grew on me a bit as we went. We finished off one skewer, then saved the rest for Mamou. She was sitting before a small campfire at their wagons, with several other ladies in shawls and kerchiefs.

I'd met Mamou, sort of, when we went to see their show back in Worcester. She'd been collecting fees from the crowd, wearing a gruff and austere expression. I could pick her out easily, because Picatel was there curled up around her ankles, keeping her feet warm. And because her face lit with a special light when she looked up and saw Lija coming.

Lija put on a big smile and went to sit beside her and hug her arm. "Sean, this is Mamou." He'd told her all about me, apparently. I wished her good evening and she looked at me and nodded her head, never taking her dark and piercing eyes from mine. I was relieved not to be snubbed, for sure, but it felt as if I was naked. Naked like a child being bathed. She assessed and judged me, I couldn't doubt, but like a mother would. I guess I passed. She spoke to Lija, and he translated for her.

"Mamou asks if you are hungry."

I glanced at the bubbling pot set over the fire, my tongue still burning from the spiced meat.

"You do not have to, Sean. I will tell Mamou you have already had supper."

"No," I stopped him. "I'll give it a try." He smiled at me warmly. So come what may, that was a good decision. I sat down next to him on the other end of Mamou's bench, and they dished me up a big bowl of the stuff, while the roasted meat was passed around.

I expected more of that hot and spicy smack, but this was milder and tasted more of strange herbs and odd flavors. It had beans and carrots in a thick reddish broth, a bit sharp for my liking, but not bad. I told Lija to tell Mamou it was very good, and gave her a smile and a nod. Lija got a spoon for himself and kindly helped me eat it.

The ladies went back to their chatting, reassured no doubt that I couldn't understand what they were saying. I couldn't help imagining the topic was me and Lija, the sight we must have made, practically bumping heads over the soup bowl as we were. But the talk seemed gentle and without scorn. I had to wonder if Lija was in the habit of bringing strange men to Mamou, and then wished it hadn't occurred to me.

Picatel came to settle himself on Lija's shoulders and gave me a good sniffing over, then buried his head in Lija's hair and took a nap. Mamou passed over a long flat loaf with a crackly crust and we tore off chunks from it to sop up the last of the soup. It was a wonderfully comfortable feeling just having Lija there beside me with the night all around us, and I wouldn't have minded sitting there for the evening. But we could still hear the music faintly playing off away through the woods, and Lija finally said he had to go and dance with them.

I admit it made me cringe inside. He said he would not have to stay long, but he'd promised to make an appearance. He hugged Mamou and apparently told her so as well. She said something that didn't sound at all gentle, a frown creasing her dark brow, and kissed his cheek before letting him go. I thought of excusing myself, seriously. It was sure to be a spectacle I didn't want to see.

We walked back through the wood and as we neared the light of their fire, Picatel jumped down and slipped away into the night. Lija said he was going to hunt and would come back later. We stopped and watched a little while, the gipsy men playing a rousing tune on their fiddles and flutes, some of them on their feet and capering to the music. Lija took off his coat and asked me to hold it for him, and I couldn't in fact make myself walk away. So I stood off in the shadows and watched while he went and joined the dancing.

As it turned out there wasn't that snide, gawking feel to it this time, and Lija wasn't the only one of them on display. Those watching seemed more attuned to the music themselves and less intent on the show. But it wasn't a show really, not this night. They danced for the sake of the dance, surely, just because it moved them. Watching Lija cavorting like that still made me feel queer though, and jealous too, there I said it, when another of the dancers who was young and good looking sidled up against him practically touching.

A huff of breath closeby tore my gaze from there to the wood, and standing at the edge of the dark was the cousin I hadn't yet seen since arriving. Terkari. He stepped forward and walked a slow half-circle around me, back and forth, staring at me the while. I couldn't ken what game he was playing, but didn't feel like I should take my eyes from his. It might have been a warning. If it was all about protecting Lija, I could understand, but that wasn't the feeling I got.

He lifted his chin and looked down his nose at me, then just walked away and disappeared back into the dark, and Lija was there taking my arm in a hard grip, full of concern. "Sean, what did he want? What did he say?"

"I don't know, Lija. He didn't say anything, just sort of gave me the evil eye."

Lija swore, I'm sure. It was some word I couldn't get my ears around, much less my tongue, but I know cursing when I see it. He was shivering. I held his coat so he could slide into it.

"It's all right, Lija. I can take care of myself."

He looked like he didn't quite believe that. "Come, Sean." He led on again, into the wood away from the gathering at the campfire, in the opposite direction Terkari had gone. When he spoke at last, it was in a deadly serious tone. "If you see him again, if he stands in your way, Sean, turn your back on him."

I didn't know if I could do that. "I don't mean to start anything with anyone, Lija. What's he after anyway?"

If he knew, Lija wasn't saying. "I will talk to him."

We walked on through the trees and back to the meadow and the riverfront. It was late, considering I had to be up early next morning to get some work done. I hated to say so, but finally did, and Lija sighed.

"I am sorry it was not more fun for you."

I was dumfound. "I had a grand time, Lija." Just being with him seemed to be all that was needed. "It was grand as well to meet your Mamou. She takes good care of you, I can see."

He smiled a gentle smile. "Mamou likes you, Sean." He seemed to shake off the disquiet his cousin had caused him. "You will sell books at the fair tomorrow? I will come and help. If I may?"

I no doubt grinned a silly grin. "Of course you may."

We said goodnight there in the moonlight and then went our separate ways. Back at the wagon, all was well. Grandad was bundled into his blankets and quilts, not breathing well but asleep and resting. I quietly climbed up into my bunk and snuggled in, my head and my heart spinning just a little.


	14. Sunrise

In spite of the late night before, I was awake and ready to face the day well before morning dawned. I had Mae taken care of, myself scrubbed and polished, and the tea steeping before Grandad showed himself. By the time the sun was risen enough to banish the worst of the night's chill and show me Lija coming through the mist on the meadow, I had a pot of oatmeal bubbling over the fire, and a smile plastered across my face.

Lija waved his arms and broke into a run, Picatel leaping through the tall grass at his side. It was a sight to see and I had to share it. Everyone closeby who was out and about seemed to stop what they were doing to watch. Or maybe it just felt that way. I didn't actually take my eyes from Lija the whole time.

I only remembered at the last moment to take off my cap and stuff it in my pocket. Lija laughed, bright and happy, and topped off my morning. He had on that blue shirt under his coat, and his fiddle case slung across his back, his dark hair tied into a tail.

"You're right on time for breakfast, Lija." I'd made it with extra honey and butter, just because.

"Oh thank you, Sean, I am starved. I was too hurried to eat." He caught Picatel up in his arms and took him to say good morning to Grandad.

I went to the cookfire and dished up the oatmeal, and made sure Lija got the best bowl. Grandad said it was too sweet, but he ate it anyway. Lija had two bowls full, and I hoped it wasn't just to make me feel good. If he was still worried over last evening, there was no sign of it.

I said I needed to go look at the lay of things and see about hiring a handcart, and Lija said he would stay and keep Grandad company. It would be one less worry on my mind, but a disappointment too, because I'd hoped he would come with me. But he gave me a discreet wink and I knew he was planning to turn his charm on Grandad, like he'd said. I gave him a grateful smile, and silently wished him luck. Grandad sniffled and blew his nose, and said he didn't need to be minded, but he didn't object very strongly. I told him I'd get back quick as I could, and set off.

The fairground itself was as much a mire as the field we were camped in, but they'd erected plank walkways over the mud. That was a relief, seeing I'd be pushing a cart around. I walked a bit, scoping out where things were. The grandstand overlooking the racing track was a permanent structure and stood well above most others. Betting on the horses had become big business. Of course, horses were shown as well, and breeding arrangements made. It was largely an agricultural fair, a place for farmers to learn about new ways of doing things, and for farmers' wives to display their talents at country home making. A place for traders to get together and keep up on the latest trends. In days gone by, it was a serious affair, but there was more carnival to it since the war. Minstrel troupes wandered about. Fakirs, snake charmers and medicine shows. There were shooting galleries, and a merry-go-round, and beer tents everywhere you turned, doing business even at that hour.

I made my way at last around the venders' circle and found the spot I'd have had if we'd arrived on time, near a big old tree that was one of the few still standing on the grounds. This year, Jake Janson beat me to it fair and square. Jake was an old friend, though I hadn't seen him in something like three seasons. He was about my age or a little more, a bookseller like me. I spotted him from a way off, setting out his shelves. He had that color of hair that was all but white and he always looked kind of pinkish, like he'd been in the sun too long. He had a kindly face though and a pleasant nature. I called out to him and he saw me and waved.

"Well, if it isn't Sean McGee, coughed up by the sea it would seem. Did you have to paddle all the way?"

I answered, "Almost," and related in brief our adventures on the drive. His territory was more southward and he'd come from that way, missing the bad weather entirely. It was good to see him and know things were going well for him. We'd been good friends for quite a while. There was a time once I'd thought we shared a secret, and I still believed we understood one another. But we'd never taken it any farther than hanging all over each other one night after celebrating too hard. Grandad had been waiting up and gave me that look, and Jake had been gone on his way the next morning.

"Have they put you out in the field, Sean? I could have a word with old man Dickers and maybe we could shift the wagons around and squeeze you a spot."

I thanked him for the thought but said I'd manage fine. "I like having the open out there, and I could do with a few days hauling a cart."

Jake laughed, "Getting soft, are we? Aye, me as well. But I like my comfort too well." He suggested we get together later for the night time festivities, but I had to decline, only told him Grandad wasn't feeling well and I should stay close that night. We talked a little about some swapping we could arrange between us and I told him I'd stop by again when I had my stock, then I went on to see about that cart.

I picked up a newspaper on the way, and fair food for our lunch before heading back out to the field. As expected, the cart was a nuisance even on the plank walkways. Off the grounds, it was worse than that. Lija saw me coming and came to help maneuver the thing over the worst ruts. It would be a nightmare laden with books. Thankfully, Lija had been watching the traffic come and go all morning and said he thought there was a better lane out around the fences toward the river. I was glad to know it. The day had grown fine and he had his coat off. I paused to take off mine and threw it into the cart. "How did it go with Grandad?"

He beamed. "I have found Grandad a friend to look out for him when we can not."

Lines had been strung here and there around the area where we were camped, and drying laundry fluttered in the breeze. Grandad was sitting in his chair before a nice, warm fire, and the young woman with the baby was sitting there with him, the little one asleep on her aproned lap.

"This is Lauren, Sean, and that is Matthew."

I tipped my cap, which had somehow found its way back onto my head. "Mrs. Humbold." I stuffed my cap into my pocket again.

Grandad piped up. "What do you know, Seanie, this lass here has family back home in Macroom."

She had rosy cheeks and strong, handsome features, and looked Irish through and through. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. McGee. I had a few minutes from my chores and this young man invited me to have a sit down with he and your Grandad. I've a pot of stew bubbling if you'd like something hot."

I said I'd brought pasties from the fair and we could all share the wealth. There was plenty, my pocketbook being in a generous mood, but she insisted on putting her babe in Lija's arms and bringing her soup pot over to portion everyone a share of that as well. It was hot and thick and rich with the taste of home. Even Grandad licked his spoon and told her she was a marvelous good cook. Thankfully, Picatel liked the fair stand pasties just fine.

The sun was well past high before Grandad spoke up and asked me if I meant to do any working that day, as he was right to do. It wasn't much of a hardship at any rate, with Lija helping me load the cart. I'd paid more for one with shelving and good tight shutters, meaning it weighed all the more. I tested the worn- smooth hand grips and lifted it up when we'd finished, and it balanced well. I could handle it.

Lija had apparently arranged everything with Mrs. Humbold before I got back that morning. She stepped aside with me and said she'd have to come and go, but she'd keep on eye on Grandad for me. I was grateful and hoped I could make it up to her. I rather doubted giving her more laundry to do would be the way. I told Grandad he could ask her if he badly needed anything, and he told me to go on and stop fussing.

Lija called Picatel to hop up onto his shoulders, and we set out along the nearby fence line, where it was in fact less trampled and easier to negotiate, as the lane was when we met up with it, though it was too near the possibly still rising river to count on for long.

I didn't like to, but thought it wise to have a talk with Lija about Mrs. Humbold. "You make friends so easy, Lija."

He smiled impishly. "Mamou says it is a gift."

And it was. It was a fine thing. But the society I lived with had its rules, and there were lines that shouldn't be crossed. I just said it. "It might not be a good thing getting too familiar with Mrs. Humbold."

He gave me a frustrated look, and I realized it was no mistake of ignorance on his part. "I do not call you Mr. McGee so why should I not call her by her right name?"

I told him why. "Because she's a married woman, Lija, and I have to live next door to her husband for the next few days."

He looked slightly penitent. "I would not make trouble for you, Sean. I will be on my best manners when Franklin is there. But you should talk to Grandad. He calls her Lauren too."

I said, "Grandad's old. He can get away with it." Lija laughed.

We came into the fair by a back way, and once again I ended up following where Lija led. He said Mamou would be there drawing portraits and could we stop for a little while please? It wasn't likely I'd sell any of my English books among the gipsy folk, but whatever he wanted was fine with me. There were several ladies there with Mamou, selling their trinkets and hand-made laces. Cam was helping out, doing any fetching and carrying, and what heavy lifting needed to be done. I liked Cam. He seemed to treat Lija as a big brother should, gruffly sometimes but with a caring bent, and Lija clearly liked him.

We watched Mamou drawing charcoal portraits for a couple of fairgoers who'd wandered off the general course. At her feet sat a box of watercolor makings, powders and pastes mixed in tiny pots. I asked Lija to tell her when she was finished that I liked her paintings very much, and he was glad to do so. She just nodded and waved off the compliment, but Lija said later that she was truly pleased.

I would have been happy to linger there a time, until Lija's cousin Terkari showed up. That one was beginning to get my back up with his arrogant way, and I couldn't refuse to meet his eye like Lija wanted me to. He didn't favor me with it for too long anyway. He seemed to be trying to placate Lija, laughing and joking in his direction, but Lija was mostly pretending he wasn't there and Mamou finally raised her voice and sent Terkari away. And he went. Lija snickered, and Mamou raised her voice at him, but only for a moment. He gave her a hug and said he would see her later. I swear I could almost understand the words.

"We will go sell books now, Sean." We returned to the cart, where Picatel had taken up a high perch, and I got it rolling. Lija walked along beside me. "Mamou does not much like Terkari. She says he smiles too much and cares too little." I told Lija I was glad I was on his side, because I wouldn't want to cross Mamou.

We passed by the lane that wound around the vendors' circle, where folks looking for a particular item would naturally go to find it, and where I was most likely to run into old acquaintances. I guess I didn't want this time with Lija to be spoiled by shaded, suspicious looks from people I knew. We were getting enough of those from passing strangers. It didn't seem to trouble Lija, so I supposed sadly that he was used to it.

We took our trade to the end of the lane leading out to the grandstand, where some of the more exotic exhibits were clustered, as well as a ring of children's' games. I'd chosen what I had of children's' literature, and books of adventure and travel mostly. It was a fair, after all, and folk were looking for a little excitement.

I found a spot out of the way but not too much out of the way, and I opened up the shutters on the cart. I'd had no particular plan in mind, but Lija took out his fiddle and started quietly playing a catchy tune, and Picatel leaped down from on high and danced around his ankles. I don't know what else to call it but dancing. People stopped to watch and listen. I was more than a little caught up myself, but Lija gave me a nod and a smile and I took his meaning. I chose a book, a short volume with a good ending, and read it aloud for anyone who cared to listen.

We were a great team from the beginning, we were. The show was a big hit, or at least Lija and Picatel were, with the little ones especially. We quickly had a smiling and attentive audience, and I even sold a few books. If we'd gotten an earlier start, I'd have sold a lot more, but the crowd was already thinning out, heading off to prepare for the evening ahead. As we were closing down the shutters on the cart to call it a day, I finally asked Lija if he could stay to supper. "I'll roast a chicken."

Lija said he wouldn't be missed for now. "But there will be a paid audience later tonight at the camp and I promised I would dance."

I couldn't help wishing otherwise, but at least we'd have supper. We detoured out around the green market and picked up some vegetables, acquired a nice plump bird and a couple loaves of fresh baked bread, and got back to the wagon just as the last of the sun dropped below the peaks over the river.

Mrs. Humbold was there with Grandad and it looked like he was showing her the wedding band he still wore on his finger, surely telling her all about his Meghan. She patted his gnarled hand and gave us a big, warm smile as we trundled up.

"I sure hope you found enough business to make it worth your hard work, Mr. McGee."

"Fair enough. We'll get more time in tomorrow."

"You didn't see Franklin by chance, did you?"

"No ma'am, I'm afraid not. But he'll surely be along soon. He's probably just waiting now until they've got the lamps lit along the lane."

Lija sat himself down next to her on her bench and asked if he could hold the baby. She passed him over, bundled in a thick blanket, and Lija cooed at him and made faces.

I went ahead and settled the cart, with an oil cloth secured over it, though it didn't look like there was any rain in the sky. By the time I'd finished with that, Mrs. Humbold had built up the fire for me and was stacking her laundry baskets to go back to her own.

Lija asked me if I wanted to hold Matthew. I laughed and said, "I'd best not."

Mrs. Humbold told him to just lay the baby in her top basket, careful, then she told Grandad she'd see him tomorrow. Lija went along and carried her bench back to her campfire, while I set about getting that chicken roasting. I'd have to thank Mrs. Humbold very kindly next time we spoke.

I asked Grandad how he was feeling and he said, "Never better." That was a bold faced lie, but I let him have it. A good hot meal would be just the thing for him. Picatel, having had a busy day, curled up around his feet and went to sleep. Lija came back and took care of Mae for me, then joined me and Grandad at the fire. He told me it already smelled wonderful, to my pleasure, though it was just simple fare.

It was full dark and we were just settling to eat before Franklin Humbold returned from the fair, and he looked none too steady on his feet, like maybe he'd lingered over-long at the beer tents. I did the neighborly thing and went to help him maneuver his cart over the ruts, and Lija went along. He thanked us kindly, in a good mood at least. Mrs. Humbold thanked us too, seeming unbothered, or surprised, by her husband's condition. It was nothing of my business anyway.

We went back to our supper and then, after the washing up was done, spent the early evening just talking. Somehow, we got on the topic of pockets, and Lija wanted us to turn ours out and see what was there. We settled on right-hand trouser pocket, all of us being right-handed.

Grandad had a handkerchief, and another one, his spectacles, and the scraps of paper and stub of pencil he always carried on him, just in case.

I came up with my penknife in its sheath and a spool of strong thread, the key to the lockbox in the wagon along with several small coins, and a pamphlet someone had put in my hand that morning at the fair, something to do with the suffrage movement that I hadn't time yet to read.

Considering the little spare room there seemed to be in Lija's trousers, he managed to fish out an amazing array of things. He had a small knife as well, but it was a wicked looking thing with a blade that shot out at the press of a lever. He showed us. He had a long brass whistle too, but didn't say what it was for. He had a few purchased sweets wrapped in waxed paper and the remnants of a handful of herb leaves he'd picked for Mae when we passed the fencerow on the way back from the fair, several polished stones, and that little painted tiger of his.

Grandad marveled at the tiger, running his fingers over its glossy smooth finish when Lija handed it to him to see. Grandad had done some serious carving in his time. Lija said he could keep it.

I couldn't let him. "Lija… "

Lija looked at me smiling and put his fingers to his lips, and I shut my mouth. I just hoped he saw how much it pleased Grandad.

The nearly full moon rose into the heavens from the east and Lija finally said he had to go. I'd have done most anything to keep him there longer, but I didn't ask to go with him, and he didn't invite me. I walked away out onto the meadow with him and Picatel to say good night, and he snatched off my cap and took it with him, laughing gleefully. "I will keep this for now."

When I couldn't make them out any longer in the darkness, I went back and helped Grandad to bed. He'd had a pretty big day himself, but he seemed in better spirits than he had in a time. Myself, I couldn't settle, and ended up back outside looking at the stars, bareheaded.

It was quiet, everyone else apparently gone to their beds, so I heard the creaking and saw Mrs. Humbold closing her wagon door and wrapping her cloak about her. She walked on over. "Good evening, Mr. McGee. May I share your fire for a spell? Seems more sensible than building up ours."

It did. I got up and gave her Grandad's chair, and pulled over the bench seat for myself.

She sat down with a satisfied sigh. "Matthew's down and quiet."

I shouldn't have asked, but did. "Mr. Humbold?"

"Oh, he'll sleep like a log all night, while I lie awake fretting."

I was sincerely sorry she had things on her mind. "Big things or little things?"

"Oh, little things mostly. Just worrying at the day gone by." She leaned her head back. "It's a beautiful night, soft and mild but clear, so the stars look like they're sinking down over us. Indian summer, they call it."

I nodded, smiling "I've heard that said." I took the chance to thank her for all of her help. "It's a great worry off my mind knowing there's someone closeby if Grandad needs anything."

"Oh, it's not a trouble at all, Mr. McGee. I miss my old grandmother something fierce."

We stared out over the moonlit meadow for a long time, listening to the breeze in the grasses and the sounds of the river running by. Sunrise came early and I knew I should get some sleep, but felt compelled to stay just a little longer, then a little longer still.

Mrs. Humbold's voice softly echoed my thoughts at last. "He's over there in that gipsy camp, isn't he?" She didn't need me to answer that. "I've never met anyone like him before."

It seemed kind of funny, but I knew it wasn't. "Neither have I."


	15. Games

Lija came extra early the next morning and made us breakfast, rice porridge with stewed cherries. While he was doing that and I was seeing to Mae, Franklin Humbold came over, seeming no worse for the wear. He started up a chat about horses, admiring Mae, I could see. We talked, cheerful as you please, but when Lija came around the wagon with a bucketful of water, I saw that shaded look come over the man's face. I might have asked him to leave, I thought it, if he hadn't at least shown Lija the courtesy of meeting his eyes and listening when he spoke.

"Good morning, Mr. Humbold, did you see I left a salve for your Daisy's leg? Mrs. Humbold said she was suffering with it on the drive. But I think the rest here will help, and it will heal fine."

I would have bet my money on that, even then, if I was a betting man. Franklin Humbold looked a little bit lost for words, but found them quick enough. "My wife must have forgotten to tell me. Thank you… "

"Lija. I am glad to help."

The man nodded, and nodded to me. "Off to work, I suppose. Good dealing to you, Sean McGee."

I said, "And to you," and off he went.

Lija gave me a sly wink and I had to laugh. "You're a wonder, you are."

The rice porridge was like nothing I'd ever tasted, or Grandad either, I could tell. I asked Lija how he learned to cook like that and he said, beaming, that Mamou taught him. It was extravagant, but he'd still made a good pot full so there would be some left for Lauren to try, he said. She was at her campfire, washing up from their breakfast, looking wakeful and bright in spite of our late night before. Lija called out a good morning to her, and she smiled and waved. He meant to stay the morning with Grandad and keep working his charm, so he'd be spending his time with her as well. There wasn't really much I could say about that, and I couldn't tarry to oversee things.

I made it in to the fair in good time and went straight to the vendors' circle. I stopped and did some business with Jake, then met up with several other old acquaintances to make a few more deals. It took up most of the morning, having to catch up on everyone's news and tell my story of the storm and flooding a dozen times. But it came out to a fair morning's work, all the same.

Wouldn't you know, I ran into Franklin Humbold as I was heading back out to the field for lunch. We talked for a minute or two about how business was, though our two trades had little in common. He brought up Lija, called him 'that gipsy boy' and asked how I knew him. I half-thought I might tell him the truth, but that would only serve to alienate the man, at the least, and what was the point in that? None.

I didn't lie anyway. I told him we'd struck up an acquaintance around Worcester, where his family was putting on a show, then met up again here at the fair. "He's helping me look after my old Grandad, and a great help he is. Bright lad, and full of good will. Knows a lot about animals, he does."

The man nodded. "Good cheap labor, I suppose."

I knew he didn't particularly mean anything by it, but I wanted to punch him. Good thing for him, I'm an easy-going man by nature. "I wouldn't know," I said. "We're working on trade." He said he was about to pick up a quick bite and asked if I'd care to join him, and I just said I had to get on. He headed off for the nearest beer tent, and I went home.

Lija was walking around with Daisy and Mae on lead at the edge of the meadow when I got there, looking like a little boy flanked by those two draft mares. He called out a greeting and went about staking them so they could graze, while I parked my cart.

Lauren was there at our campfire, folding laundry, our laundry. "Good day, Mr. McGee."

I raised a hand to tip my cap, but didn't have it, of course. "Good day to you, Mrs. Humbold." Grandad was having a nap, so I kept my voice down. "Did Grandad put you to doing our washing? I'll pay you for it."

She shook her head, and spoke softly as well. "Your Grandad's paid me, Mr. McGee, and well. I've not been so entertained in years."

I tended to forget that Grandad had some fine stories and told them well. I guess I'd just heard them so much they'd come to seem common. And Grandad hadn't been in such good form in a long time "It's more than kind of you, Mrs. Humbold. I'm forever in your debt." She and Lija and I had a quiet lunch while Grandad slept. She said she'd fix him something later, and I had to thank her again.

We got a good, early start that afternoon, me and Lija did, with Picatel riding along on the cart, and Lija promptly told me his big plan. "We are to take care of Matthew tonight so Lauren can go and see the fair with Franklin."

Not that I wasn't glad of a way to pay her back for all her work and trouble, but I had to be the practical one. "Do you know anything about babies, Lija?"

He squinched up his face and finally said, "I told Lauren you would know. Do you, Sean?"

I did, fortunately, but it had been a very long time since I'd even held one. "I suppose we'll manage." Lija seemed to think it would be fun, and I hadn't the heart to try talking him out of it.

We worked much as we had the afternoon before, but moved the cart here and there as the day went on, finding the best spots in which to lure an audience. I did a good business and know I had Lija to thank for it, and Picatel. On the way back at day's end, we passed by the tent theatre and Lija wanted to know what they were playing. I read the bill for him.

"Looks like Uncle Tom's Cabin in the afternoons and Shakespeare in the mornings and evenings. Do you like theatre, Lija?" He said he did, though he hadn't seen any American Theatre. If there was time and chance, I figured we'd have to remedy that.

Since we were watching the Humbold's baby that evening, I didn't have to ask him if he would stay for supper, but I did ask him what he'd like. I'd started a generous few pieces of salted codfish soaking, but it wouldn't be ready for chowder until the next day. Lija said that whatever I wanted was fine, but wanted to help with the cooking, and I couldn't say no to that.

We stopped at the market to look at what there was, and decided to put together a soup, something that would cook quickly, and he didn't seem all that interested in putting meat in it. I had onions back at the wagon, and carrots and potatoes. Lija picked out parsnips and squash and a few things I'd not have thought to put in a soup, like beets. I also bought a fresh cabbage to go with the chowder I was planning.

By day's end, I have to admit my shoulders were starting to ache a bit. I was more used to parking the wagon and working off the side than hauling a heavy cart around. Just as well then. It would do me good. But I was glad to be done with it for the night.

Franklin Humbold returned from the fair not long after we did and Lauren promptly put the babe into his arms and went to get ready for her evening out. He sat down at his wagon and waited, and we sat down by ours and waited as well, though I hoped not so obviously. I, at least, made myself busy building up a good cookfire.

It didn't really even take her all that long, and out she came cinched into a close fitted, dark green dress with a big bow in the back. She had white gloves over her cold chapped hands and a parasol for the crook of her arm, her hair swept up with combs into a cloud over her head, and a twinkle in her eye. She was certainly a handsome woman.

Lija, it seems, couldn't resist telling her so, very politely, when at last they came over. "You are looking very pretty tonight, Mrs. Humbold."

I'd meant to beg off holding the little mite, but Franklin walked right over and put him in my arms. Lauren set down a basket of blankets and towels, and nappies of course. "Don't fret, Mr. McGee, that's just for if need be," she said, smiling. "He's had a good feed and he's a happy one, so I don't expect he'll be any trouble. If he does get to fussing… " She took my left hand and inspected my nails, which I thankfully kept neatly cut. "Just give him a clean finger to suckle. And if he doesn't raise a clamber, don't bother to change him. We won't be away late."

I'd wondered what Franklin would be thinking about leaving his baby son with folks he hardly knew, but it was seeming more and more like she was the one in charge of family matters and he deferred to her. At any rate, I thought he might have a few glasses in him already. He offered her his arm, smiling broadly, and off they went, making their way along the fencerow when it seemed she ought to be in a carriage.

And there I stood, holding little Matthew Humbold. It wasn't that I didn't like babies, it wasn't that at all. I just didn't need to start feeling like I wanted one. I'd found myself in that sort of situation before. The babe looked up at me, blowing bubbles, and giggled, I swear. I smiled at him and bounced a little, then passed him along to Grandad. "Carefully." I needn't have worried. Grandad knew how to hold a baby.

Lija helped me clean and cut up the vegetables. To be honest, I would have just put them in water to cook, with a little salt and pepper. But he had other plans, like browning everything in butter before pouring in the water, and he'd brought his own spice box, full of little packets of this and that. The aromas that rose when he opened it took me right back to the night before in the gipsy camp. I asked him to go easy, for the sake of Grandad's old stomach, and he promised he would.

Our soup was soon simmering away, and Grandad was looking like he might doze off. Lija offered to take the little one, and sat next to me holding the baby with one arm against his chest, back to his front so they could both watch, while I scattered into the pot what Lija told me to. So much of the green, herby ones and a pinch of the yellow one. What looked like far too much of the red one, and only a little of the very dark one. The smell was enticing, really. It woke Grandad up.

Lija had the baby's hands and arms out of the blankets, tiny fingers curled around his own. I didn't say anything. He was a sturdy little fellow. His mother often had him out uncovered when it was cool, and it was only cool that night.

Lija asked me if I would read for them. I thought of the newspaper I hadn't yet taken the time to look at, but that wouldn't do. I went into the wagon and found a volume of my favorite Shakespearean comedy of errors, then I sat outside by the fire with the best audience I could have asked for, and started reading it.

Grandad didn't much care for Shakespeare himself, but he listened and nodded sometimes, and stayed awake. Lija and the babe both paid rapt attention. That made me smile. We took a break from it to have our soup when it was ready. Lija wanted to offer Matthew a taste, but I talked him out of it. He was only a few months old, and I didn't think it was a good idea, at all. Though it wasn't really all that spicy. Spicy enough, however, to anyone not used to it. Still, Grandad ate his, after making a few faces and having to have it explained to him by Lija. And it was definitely growing on me, though I was sure I couldn't handle it on a steady basis.

We went back to Shakespeare after we'd eaten, and Lija said to his delight that he was beginning to understand the language. Then Grandad had a coughing fit, and Lija put the baby in my arms and went to get his coat, from which he produced a glass bottle with a stopper, nearly full of some brownish liquid. Grandad took a dose of it willingly, to my amazement, until I learned Lija had talked him into trying it two days past and that was why he'd been feeling better. The coughing eased but he said he was tired anyway, so I helped him in to bed.

As I put out the lamp, I found myself cocking my head to listen. Lija was playing his fiddle, soft and sweet. I went back out and found the baby laid in his basket, already asleep. Lija went on quietly playing. I sat beside him, and listened like I'd never get enough of hearing it.

The Humbolds returned before the moon had risen very high, and Franklin looked no more inebriated than when they'd gone. It seems her presence was a good influence on him. Maybe he was only taking this chance away from her in the day to let loose a little. And who was I to judge anyway? I normally tried at the least to like everyone I met. I had to figure I just wasn't giving him a fair chance. Lauren seemed happy with things. They took little Matthew and went off to their wagon for the night.

And Lija said he had to go. I walked with him part way across the meadow and there we said good night. It felt a little bit like a game, or some dance we were doing around each other, and I couldn't step back and see the big picture. He seemed to so delight in my company, as I did in his. But did he want what I wanted? Did I even understand what that was myself?

I went back to the wagon and put out our fire, then called it a night. Grandad was asleep and snoring. I climbed up into my bed and laid my head on my cold pillow, curled up under my covers, and buried my nose in my hands to keep it warm. My fingers still smelled of spice.


	16. Dancing

Lija spent the next morning with me at the fair, as well as the afternoon. There was plenty of opportunity for me to talk to him about serious things. I'd never known anyone so easy to talk to, to really talk to, and haven't since. I could have just asked him what it was we were doing. Maybe he was as unsure of me as I was of him. I knew he wouldn't take offense if I was only imagining things, though I couldn't believe anymore that was so. The way he looked at me. The way he was always laying his hand on my arm or leaning close to whisper some silly thing. The way he said my name, as if we were a married couple and had been forever. If it was all in my head, then I was in big trouble. I should have just asked him, and spared us both a great deal of heartache. But I couldn't.

It turned out we didn't even understand each other on the subject of his dancing. As we were coming back to the wagon in the late afternoon, he asked me what I didn't like about it.

"Oh Lija, I like everything about your dancing." Did he think that because I didn't ask to come and watch? "I guess I'd just rather it was less… public."

Lija kindly took that with a smile. "That is all right then. I will dance just for you and Grandad."

And he did. After we'd settled the cart and taken care of Mae, and I had a pot of fresh water heating for tea, he showed us a dance from Spain. Flamenco, he said it was called. He stood himself up tall and straight, and made even stomping and hand clapping look like poetry, snapping his head from side to side and making his hair come loose from its tail. An amazing thing, it was. Again, he had everyone in sight watching, even Franklin Humbold, who was home early, I was glad to see. We applauded when it ended, me and Grandad did, and so did Lauren from her fireside.

Lija grinned and swept a low bow, laughing, catching a breath. "It is better with a hard floor. You must show me your Irish dancing, Sean."

Grandad snorted, loudly. I had to decline. "Oh no, I'm not nearly so light on my feet as you, Lija."

Lauren called out, "Is it an Irish jig you're wanting to see?" With the baby on her shoulder, she took her husband by the hand and dragged him over. Lija got out his fiddle and started playing a lively tune, and I ended up with the little one, while the Humbolds demonstrated a good Irish jig for Lija. Franklin could dance, and had a happy grin when he let loose. Maybe that was what she saw in him. I had to get supper cooking, so I passed the baby on to Grandad, who was grinning to beat the band, having a great time.

Lija picked up the jig like he was born to it, and Picatel couldn't seem to resist joining in, leaping around his feet. For the first time in my life, I wished I'd tried harder to learn to dance. More so when Lija came and grabbed me by the hand, wanting me to dance with him. "I must learn, Sean." I told him, smiling, that it looked like he already had. He gave up on me and got Grandad on his feet instead, handing the babe back to me.

I invited the Humbolds to stay for supper, it seemed only right. Franklin, in a great mood, went to his wagon and came back with an almost full bottle of decent spirits, and a pocketful of small crystal glasses, and he generously shared it around. Grandad had a small glass, and I did. Lija politely declined. Lauren did also, saying it wasn't good for Matthew. Franklin wound up drinking most of it himself.

Supper was salted cod in chowder with buttered cabbage on the side, and I fried the onions with the potatoes first, not too old to learn a new trick. It wasn't strictly Irish cooking, and it would have been better if the fish was fresh from the sea, but it was a favorite of mine and Grandad's. We had just enough bowls and spoons to go around. I stirred in some cream at the last, then ladled it up.

The reactions it got were mixed. Grandad liked it fine, and the Humbolds smiled and said kind things. Lija asked if I would mind if he put more salt in his. He had his own. And I could see my boiled cabbage made him cringe, though he ate it and didn't say a word. Lauren helped me clean up the dishes afterward, and told me I might try a bit of salsify. She said she had plenty and would give me some, not that it needed anything at all.

Franklin made a small spectacle of himself after we'd eaten, and had to be helped home, and Lauren came along with the baby to put them both to bed. She gave me something of an apologetic look. "What a lovely time we had, Mr. McGee. It was so good of you to have us over." I said it was my pleasure, and meant it.

I got back to our campfire, and Lija said with a sigh that he had to go. I walked with him out onto the starlit meadow, where it was still and quiet and I could have told him what I was feeling, and all I could do was say I wished the days were longer. He said that would be a grand thing, but not like he was mocking me.

He said he meant to try loosing the hawk in the morning. He called her Olhobril, which he said meant something like bright eye. "It will be very early, but if you would come too, I would like that."

Without a second thought, I said I'd be there, where and how early? He said we could meet by the river on the edge of their camp. We said good night then and he and Picatel went on to their home, while I went back to mine.

Grandad was still smiling over the evening past as I poured fresh, hot tea into his mug, then sat down to drink my own. "That was a fine time, my lad."

I gave him a smile and an affectionate pat on the arm. "It was, Grandad." I thought perhaps he was wanting to talk about things, but he only gave me a careful look, and said nothing. I suppose he could see I didn't know.

Lauren was out seeing to their fire, a shadow in the moonlight. I'd have gone and helped her, but that would be stepping over the line, and besides she was a very competent woman and didn't seem to need anyone's help.

Bed then. I asked Grandad if he was ready to hit the hay, and was about to put out our fire when there was an angry shouting in the dark, in the gipsy tongue. And Terkari appeared at the edge of the meadow, drunk and disorderly, it looked like. I winced at the noise and hoped folks had their windows shuttered. There was no doubt his ranting and fist waving was aimed at me, and I stood up to face it, whatever may be. Grandad said not a word.

I might have avoided a confrontation by going on with my business, putting out the fire and taking Grandad to bed. I thought about it. But then he thumped his chest and put on a honeyed tone, and made gestures that had my hair standing on end. Obscene gestures, luring and propositioning.

I was outraged. I stormed out there. What I meant to do, I don't know. I had to look up at him, but I didn't pause to think on it. I gave him a good shove and the hardest, steadiest voice I could muster. "Get out of here with your filthy talk."

He glared at me, maybe not as drunk as I'd thought.

I glared at him in turn, not flinching for a second. He was all bluster, I'd known the type. He left, staggering off back to the gipsy camp, where Lija was.

I stood there staring after him until I was sure he couldn't see me any longer if he looked over his shoulder, then I stomped back to Grandad. He was on his feet and grinning.

"That's my lad!"

I guess he hadn't been sure I had it in me. I hadn't either, for that matter. I took a deep breath and rolled my aching shoulders, and let it go. The night had grown late and I had to be up extra early next morning, to meet Lija. I told Grandad all about that as I was helping him to bed, told him I'd get back as quick as I could to make breakfast, and he should just sleep in.

Then I went back outside and sat by the dwindling fire, just sat there, trying to think it out, Lija and me and where it was going, or not going. I'd learned well how to keep the feelings I had to myself, and had lived a mostly celibate life. I had those urges, as every man must, but I tended to the need on my own when I had to. I'd thought it would always be that way, because two men surely couldn't live together in love without the rest of the world having their say about it, and I'd always thought I wouldn't want to live a life scorned. But here I was now, wondering if there might really be a way.

Those were my thoughts that night, laid over with worry for Lija, because I still didn't understand what Terkari was all about.


	17. Friends

"From the look of you, Mr. McGee, there must be a frightful storm going on in there."

I looked up from staring at my hands in my lap, and Lauren was standing there. I apologized fervently for Terkari's behavior, feeling like it was my fault, but she only laughed softly.

"I've seen worse. My own father was a brawler when he'd had too much." She dropped her eyes from mine. "I guess you're thinking my Franklin drinks more than he ought to." She looked at me again, a forthright woman if ever there was one. "I don't care for the spirits myself so I don't mind having a ready excuse. My Gran told me if you give it to them when they're young, they'll crave it when they're grown, and I believe her."

"It sounds like your Gran was a wise lady."

She smiled. "Still is, god willing. She's really my great, great Gran and she was 97 last month. I dearly wish I could see her again before she passes."

I got up to give her Grandad's chair to sit in, and asked if it was too far to travel.

She said, "Not so far really, but we don't go that way anymore."

It seemed she had no more to say on that subject.

"Do you think Lija might be in danger, Mr. McGee?"

I huffed off the possibility. "From that man?" But I could see she was truly concerned. Did I think Terkari might hurt Lija? I shook my head at last. "No. I don't think so."

We sat quietly for a time, just looking up at the stars, until I finally let myself ask her, "Is life good for you, Mrs. Humbold… all in all?"

She hesitated for only a moment. "Mr. McGee, If I'd met you and your Grandad and Lija when I was a lass, I might have aimed for a little more. But I'm happy with all I've got."

I was right glad to hear it.

We went to our beds before much longer. I had to be out early next morn to meet Lija. I wasn't going to get more than a few hours sleep, but I lay awake still brooding and wasted a good deal of it. It was very late before I managed to really sleep, but I was still somehow awake again in the dark before dawn, and forced myself up and out.

I took the time to tidy myself up a bit, but no more than that. I'd already decided that Lija needn't know about his cousin's visit the night before. He met me down at the riverside as planned, with a lantern and Olhobril on his arm, and Picatel absent completely. We walked through the wood quite a way as the twilight gathered, leaving the gipsy camp behind, and came at last as dawn broke to a remote clearing where Lija said he'd been bringing her to hunt.

Lija raised his arm and she spread her wings and took flight, looking hale and hearty. I still had to wonder if she could make it on her own, after having Lija to serve her every whim, but he reassured me it was for the best.

"She is ready, Sean. It is time for her to find a mate and live as she was meant to."

She came back and lighted on his arm, perhaps not of the same mind. He sent her up again, and again she came back. And again. She wouldn't even hunt, as if she knew what he was thinking and didn't mean to be left behind, and he finally stroked her feathers and crooned to her that it was all right. Another day.

We walked back through the wood and returned her to her perch on Mamou's wagon. Mamou had already left for the fair with Cam, he said. Picatel appeared and went with us, skirting around the fringes of the wider camp so as not to run into anyone, and across the meadow to the fair field.

After having a late breakfast with Grandad, we left him to Lauren's watchful eye and took our cart of books into the fair for another morning's work. I did a good business, once again, in spite of the fact we weren't really trying all that hard. We spent a good part of the time settled on a bench together, reading bits and pieces from the Shakespeare play I'd started the night before.

Folk were milling about the theatre tent, waiting to get in for the morning show. At Lija's suggestion, I took out my book and starting reading aloud as I walked amongst the crowd, while he provided musical accompaniment. Nothing was sold as I'd parked the cart off a way, but we were roundly applauded, and it didn't matter anyway. We could have been panhandlers begging in the streets, and I think I would have been happy as long as he was by my side.

Back at the wagon for lunch, Lija convinced Grandad that I was working too hard and needed to have the afternoon free, seeing it was the last day of the fair. I asked Grandad if he'd like to go himself. We could unload the cart, shelves and all, and he could ride around the fair in relative comfort. But he said he'd just as soon not, and told us to go on.

We unloaded anyway, packing away what books I hadn't sold into the wagon, and returned the cart first thing. By then we'd already seen most everything from the outside, and Lija said it was too nice to be inside when I asked if he'd like to go into the theatre for the afternoon show.

So we just walked around, and I finally took him to meet Jake Janson. I'd learned that Lija liked maps, and maps were Jake's specialty. Besides, I was feeling kind of bad for avoiding the man. I should have known it wouldn't be a problem with Jake. He gave me a sidelong look that was both surprised and understanding, like maybe he saw more than even I did. But he smiled and took Lija's hand to shake, treating him as he would any patron.

We looked at the wares, and Lija was taken with a water-colored map of the whole of North America, from east to west and north to south. Necessarily, it lacked fine detail and wouldn't be at all useful for getting around on a local scale. It was more for looking at, and dreaming on. I asked Jake how much and he quoted me a price that was too low. I knew the cost of such things and paid him what it was worth, in coin.

In the late afternoon, we found ourselves headed out the lane to the grandstand. Lija said gipsies weren't allowed to enter their horses in fair events, but his cousins liked to watch them race. He himself didn't seem to like it that much, but we went anyway and the cousins were there, without Terkari. They gave me more of a looking at than they yet had, and talked amongst themselves about me, I was sure. And Terkari's name came up.

We didn't stay very long. Lija got into a heated debate with a couple of them and finally dragged me away, angry. I hated to see him that way and asked what they'd said to upset him. He wouldn't speak, until we'd come to a place that was less crowded, where we could sit down for a spell. I had a feeling. It concerned Terkari, that was certain, and I badly wanted to know what there was between he and Lija.

When he told me, he told it straight. "Terkari thinks I am for him. He thinks in the old way that all outsiders are unclean."

With my heart in my throat I asked, "Only him, Lija? What about the others?"

He said the other cousins were not so hard minded. "Mamou says change is coming. Mamou likes you, Sean."

My tongue wanted to cleave to the roof of my mouth, but I got it out. "And I like Mamou. I like you, Lija."

The hardness fell away from his face, that was a relief. I hoped never to see it again. He leaned a little against me, and I so wanted to take him into my arms and hold him. Instead, I let the moment pass by, and only asked him what he'd like for supper. He sighed.

"I can not have supper with you and Grandad, Sean, I am sorry. I have important things I must do. And then I must dance." He gave me a resigned but hopeful look. "You may come, Sean. It will only be us."

Meaning we and all the gipsies. Still… "Maybe I will, Lija." I'd been carrying around the rolled and tied parchment map I'd bought from Jake. I handed it to Lija. "This is for you."

Lija made a little sound of wonderment and met my eyes with a great fondness in his look, as there must have been in mine.

We walked on together at last, back out to the field. Lija couldn't stay, but I would see him again later, I was mostly certain. He wished Grandad a good night, and Grandad wished him one in turn, bending down and patting Picatel on the head.

After they'd gone off across the meadow, I sat down with Grandad and set about building up the fire to make something for supper. Lauren was at her fire, doing the same.

"Seanie, my lad, there's a good woman."

I supposed I couldn't blame him for trying one more time. "She's got a husband, Grandad." He knew better. He looked me in the eye then.

"Lija?"

I stared out over the meadow, bringing back my last vision of him, turning to wave. "It feels like he's the best friend I've ever had."

Grandad mumbled and shook his head. "Then I'm guessing you'd best bring him along when we leave here."


	18. Found

Still reeling from Grandad's words to me earlier, I crossed to the gipsy camp in the late evening dark. It wasn't easy going, but nothing could have stopped me that night. I wasn't fool enough to get my hopes up, but it was everything I'd had growing in the back of my mind, the idea of Lija going with us when we moved on.

I made my way to their camp, keeping my head down and saying nothing if I ran into anyone, and on through the wood to their gathering place. Once I'd gone far enough, I could hear the music, and it led me to them at last. I kept to the shadows and only watched for a long time. Lija was there, dancing, with several other men. But he was watching for me, I knew, and he spotted me soon enough.

So did Terkari, who appeared out of nowhere and got in my way. This night, I was prepared for fisticuffs if that was how it had to be, but maybe Lija had made him see sense. The man gave me his flashy grin and swept a bow to the side, as if to say the way was clear, then just took himself elsewhere.

I knew I couldn't really trust that, but I let it bolster my nerve anyway. I looked for Lija again but couldn't find him, until he was almost right beside me.

"Sean."

I looked into his beautiful eyes and just stood there like a fool. "Lija." He took my arm, seeming preoccupied, and led our way back through the trees toward the meadow, where we could be alone. He could have led me into a nest of thieves at that moment and I would have followed. But when he finally stopped and I saw how agitated he was, my hard won resolve melted a little.

"We will be leaving soon."

"How soon, Lija?"

"In only a few days," he said. "We go west from here. Javert wishes to see a place called Erie. Then we may go all the way to Omaha. I looked on your map, Sean, and it is very far." Too far for me to follow, he was thinking.

It had been my plan all along to be in Boston for Christmas, and then settle in at Montague's Farm for a time. Especially with winter ahead, I didn't like to get too far from Boston. I told him, "We're meant to go north from here and then back east."

We were so close I could feel him trembling, his face looking pale and drawn in the moonlight. He touched his fingers to my cheek and I wanted with a burning ache inside to kiss him, but he beat me to it with a tender touch of his warm lips on mine.

I pulled him close and held him tight, feeling him and drinking him in. "Come with me, Lija! Come with me and Grandad!" He gasped and pushed away from me. How could I ask him to give up his exciting, carefree life for the little I had to offer? It was absurd and I felt like a fool, but I could see in his eyes that he'd thought of it too.

"Sean… it is not so easy."

I stumbled over my tongue. "I know I can't ask you this, Lija. You'd miss Mamou… "

Lija gripped my arms so hard I could feel his fingers through my coat sleeves. "I would… but Mamou tells me to follow my heart."

Mamou was on my side. "Lija, they can't keep you with them against your will."

"Not by force, they would not. But they are my family, Sean. They have to let me go. Maybe, if you come and talk to Javert to his face and show him you are worthy in front of so many, he will have to see that it is meant to be."

I was sure there wasn't anything I wouldn't do to have him with me, but, "He won't even look at me, Lija. He sure won't listen to me."

"I will make him listen, Sean. Mamou will help."

My heart was racing. "When?"

"Tomorrow morning," he said. "But not too early. Javert does not listen to anyone until the sun is well up. You will come, Sean?"

"I will." He threw his arms around me and clung like he wouldn't ever let go, then he was hurrying away into the night, going back to them. I couldn't but understand. If he was truly coming with me, he would want to be with Mamou.

I went back to the wagon, to bed, but my heart wouldn't settle and I lay in my bunk wide awake, worrying and wondering. What would I say to Javert? Did it matter anyway? Lija would have to translate between us, and he would know what to say and not to say. All I had to do was stand steady and not falter, and I could have my deepest desire.

We would have to share my bunk. Of course we would. We would be lovers. Eventually. Grandad would understand.


	19. Lost

I expected not to sleep that night, but my exhausted mind had different plans and took advantage of all that confusion and worry slipping away. I finally knew what the future held for me and Lija, and there would be no more good-byes to dread. I woke in the twilight of very early morning and was out of bed that quickly, wide awake and filled with anticipation. By the time the sun rose over the eastern hills, I was dressed for business in my good suit, and all but pacing to pass the time until it felt late enough.

Grandad wasn't saying much, but he patted me on the back in an understanding way before settling to have his breakfast. I couldn't eat anything, my stomach in nervous knots. I could imagine Lija feeling the same. I thought he must be very busy that morning, working his magic, setting the stage for me.

The fair was officially over and many of our neighbors were preparing to leave, the Humbolds among them. Lauren caught my eye with a smile and a nod, and I had a strong feeling she understood as well. I couldn't wait any longer, for fear she and Franklin might be gone before Lija and I could get back to wish them well.

I set out across the meadow with my hopes high, but soon felt the first whisper of unease, when I reached the gipsy camp in the wood without running into Lija coming to meet me. I had to follow my instincts more than anything, since I'd only been there in daylight once. Even so, I was sure more than half the wagons had gone. There were fresh wheel tracks in the ground, fewer horses and less bells tinkling. I finally came to the great stone ringed pit where they'd gathered. There were only a few of the men there, and those seemed to be packing up. Only a faint wisping of smoke rose from the firebed.

I hurried on, my breath puffing mist on the crisp air, reciting to myself every reason I could think of why Lija might have been unable to meet me, but I was only trying to fool myself. I knew the path through the wood to Mamou's wagon, and it wasn't that far. The other wagon had been parked nearby. I'd sat beside Lija at their hearthside, right there. The fire was stone cold. They were gone.

"Sean McGee?"

I spun around, my heart pounding. A man had followed me, one of them that I didn't know. He spoke to me in English.

"Lija says to tell you he cannot stay."

I couldn't find my voice and he turned away. "Wait… how… " It wasn't possible.

The man held up his hands and said, "That is all I know," and turned and went.

Lija was gone? I told myself I was having a horrible dream, somehow stumbling my way out of the wood and back across the meadow. Grandad was there, on his feet, numb and in shock. Or that was me. I stumbled by him and slumped down to sit on the wagon's running board, and Grandad came and sat beside me, laying his hand on my shaking knee. I knew then I was awake and it was real.

"They left," my voice hardly a squeak. "He's gone."

"I'm sorry, Seanie. He was a good lad."

"But he wouldn't have left, Grandad. He was going to come with us. I only had to stand up to his uncle and ask." I could hear him saying it. 'Tomorrow morning. But not too early.' I got to my feet again, but felt just lost and aimless.

From across the way Lauren met my eyes, and I had a thought so horrid it turned my stomach. But the baby was there, in her arms. She gave me a sorrowing look, as if she could see right into my heart. Franklin came walking over, like he lived in a different world than the rest of us, and asked me if I'd consider making a deal on the horses, swap and cash for me. He wanted Mae.

I told him, "She's not for sale or trade," then I rudely walked away from him, distracted by the screech of a hawk.

Walking back out onto the meadow, I spotted her. My heart, ripped and bleeding as it was, insisted that was Olhobril wheeling high in the sky, all alone. "So he left you too."


	20. Hurt

The loss was so piercing I wasn't sure I could live through it. Lija wouldn't have left me like that, after last night. Terkari had turned Javert against me from the start. The fool, I. They must have taken him by force, they must have. But Lija's cousins wouldn't let anything bad happen to him. Mamou wouldn't. Then how? Why? Could they have talked him into staying with them? Could he really have left me a careless farewell from the mouth of a stranger? How could he hold my beating heart in his hands and then crush it so ruthlessly?


	21. Fear

What was I to do? It was such a hunger of the soul I physically ached, to be shown something I never thought to have, to let it slip through my fingers. But it was fear too, fear for Lija. When all was said and done, I couldn't believe he would just leave me, which meant he could be in danger, held against his will. Leaving my own heart's desires aside, it wasn't in me to leave a thing unfinished, plain and simple. Lija needed me and I cast fortune to the wind. I knew what I had to do.


	22. Choices

Turning from the meadow at last, I found the Humbolds were leaving, their wagon hitched and rolling. Lauren was on the front seat beside her husband, little Matthew bundled in her arms.

I hastened to catch them while I could, fishing several coins from my pocket. Franklin brought them to a stop so I could reach up and put them into her hand. "For all your hard work." I didn't call her Lauren. That could have made trouble for her with Franklin. But I didn't call her Mrs. Humbold either. "I hope you get to see your Gran." She thanked me kindly and didn't say anything more, but she gave me a caring and wishful look, and I knew what she meant.

Franklin wished me good fortune, and I wished him the same, then they were gone as well. The place was clearing out. I hoped I wasn't too late to catch Jake.

Grandad stood confused, my fault. With my hands unsteady, I sat him down and got him a fresh mug of tea. I did my best to reassure him that I was in control of my senses, then told him I had to go and see someone and that I'd be back as quick as I could.

The fairground was in disarray with workers coming and going. Temporary structures were already being dismantled, the general cleaning up begun. I found Jake hitching up his horse, preparing to depart.

"I need a map, Jake. I know you're packed up and all, but it's important."

Jake was surprised, but pleased it seemed, to see me again. "Anything for an old friend." Of course, I couldn't hide my agitation, hard as I tried. Jake took on a look of concern. "Is this about that fellow you were with, Sean?"

"Lija." I didn't need to lie about it with Jake. I was sorry we'd never gotten around to talking about things. "He's gone on westward with his family, but I'm thinking not of his own will. We had an understanding between us. He was meaning to come with me and Grandad."

Jake took that as I'd hoped and nodded. "Have they got a good start on you?"

I knew I had no chance of running them down. We wouldn't even be able to sustain the kind of days we'd driven to make the fair. We'd have to stop more often and stay longer. "It won't be so much a chase as me keeping my nose to the ground and just following as best I can. I might not catch up to them until Erie. I only know that's where they're going. So I need a map of the lands west of here, as far as Erie at least."

That seemed to trouble him, but he opened up his wagon and found what I was needing. "You'll not find much trade on that road, Sean." We looked at the map together. The most sensible way was straight through the mountains, with only scattered small towns and villages, and it was a good four hundred miles. "You won't have an easy time of it with winter coming on," Jake said. I knew that well enough. It didn't matter. I'd made up my mind. "Well then, best of luck to you, Sean." I wanted to pay him for the map but he wouldn't have it. "Let me help, Sean. For old times' sake." He offered his hand to shake and I gripped it tight.

"You're a good man, Jake."

"We both are, and to hell with anyone who says otherwise, eh?"

 

*******

It was going on noontime before I had Mae hitched up to the wagon and we were ready to set out. I'd settled Grandad on the front seat and myself beside him, when he pulled from his pocket Lija's painted tiger and put it into my hand.

"You'll be wanting this more than I, lad." I was too choked up to speak for a moment, and he went right on. "Where is it we're going now, Seanie?"

I swallowed down the ache in my throat and put the best slant on it I could. "I thought we'd try something new, Grandad. A place we haven't been."

Of course, he knew the truth of it. We were going after Lija.


	23. Apart

We were more than a week on the road before we came down into the Hudson Valley and to Albany at last. I tried in those early days to set a good pace and be wary of delays, but I knew even then they were putting distance between us. The rumor the gipsies left in their wake let me know we were on their trail, at least. I had a constant hope, as well, that Lija would escape them and I would find him beside the road, waiting for me. He had to know I was coming.

Hope was a good thing to hold on to. I don't know how I would have fared without it. Badly, I fear. There were times in the dark when I felt so crushed down I could hardly draw breath, but most of the time I did what I had to do and kept plodding on. We were going forward, and that had to be good enough.

Albany was the last good sized town we would see until Erie, if we ended up going that far. So I stopped long enough to take on a good month's worth of provisions, and grain for Mae, of course. She would get hay now and then, but we had no easy way of carrying bales. As always after supplying, the wagon was too cramped inside to move around much. I wished I'd taken the time to look into a closed cart we could pull behind the wagon for extra packing room. I always thought it would be a smart thing when we were tripping over crates, but I'd never gotten around to it, and didn't then.

We left Albany in early November, headed westward through the lower Cats Kill Mountains. It was beautiful country, I'm sure, even with winter coming on. I had little thought for the scenery though, and Grandad spent much of the time asleep, inside out of the weather when I could talk him into it. I'd put Lija's painted tiger in the little niche over his bed, and there it stayed. I was getting used to feeling the wind through my hair. Lija had my cap still and I hadn't bothered with getting a new one. I was glad he had it. It somehow eased the ache to think of him holding it to him in the cold night.

The first snowfall was a soft, gentle one that fell silently all around us on a gray afternoon. The second was a blizzard. Thankfully, Mae had put on a good heavy coat, and I kept her under a blanket with shelter for her head at night, because it grew cold and colder. We had to have a fire inside the wagon when we weren't on the move. A careful fire in our small heating stove. It was risky but necessary when it dropped below freezing, though it meant we had to also crack open a window and prop up the trap door overhead. What was better, or worse, the smoke or the draft? It was a delicate balance. We took to sharing Grandad's bunk, so I could keep him warm. Wouldn't you know, his cold came back, and I eventually caught it from him. Mamou's medicine had run out by then.

The largest settlement we passed through housed no more than a couple of hundred. Most were small villages set into hillsides or nestled at the feet of them, and even those were few and far between. Jake had been right. There wasn't enough business to keep a book trader in victuals, though I did find pockets here and there of folk who were hungry for what I had. People had some time on their hands in the winter, and I probably could have roused more business if I'd had the heart for it. But I couldn't bear to stay too long in one place. And still it felt like we crept along, week after week after week.

Past Waverly, we found ourselves on a lesser road. It was narrower and more winding, and not kept up nearly as well. It didn't seem likely the gipsies would have deliberately chosen it, but I couldn't see how we might have missed a better way. The map showed it as a fine line that ran nearly straight west from there, directly to Erie, and there were no others that did so.

I put the map away and tried to settle down to get some sleep, not easy with my head feeling all stuffed with wool. It was cold, even bundled into all the blankets and quilts we had, and the wagon was on a crazy tilt. I didn't feel up to dealing with it.

Until I found word that the gipsies had come that way, I could only hope, and fret over the notion of Lija being out there on his own, waiting for me by a different roadside than the one we were on.


	24. Smoke

"Oh aye, they come through here like they had the devil on their tail."

My heart eased greatly, but I had to be sure. "Two wagons, were there, one painted blue with green trim, the other dark yellow and red?"

"Aye."

"Was there a lad among them, a handsome boy with a pale complexion? He would have stood out from the others."

"Don't know about that. They didn't stop." The man chewed his lip. "They had a sort of badger, I think. Saw it climbing out a window. A strange thing, that was."

Undoubtedly. "How long ago was this?"

The man shrugged. "Weeks. Afore the first snow."

Too long. They could be to Erie already, and maybe they wouldn't stay there long enough for me to catch up to them. I knew I couldn't let myself think like that. It was hard enough to keep going sometimes. I thanked the old gentleman gratefully. It was the first news of the gipsies I'd had in more than a week.

It took us two long, dreary months almost, from the fair to Erie. The provisions I'd laid in back in Albany weren't enough to see us through, so I had to pick up things as I was able to, and had to dip into our coinage when I couldn't barter. I didn't grudge that too much. The fair had been good for us, and we weren't destitute anyway. I had a bit of savings, regardless I'd meant it for other things. And Grandad had a few valuable things put away, things he'd managed to hang onto through every needy time we'd passed. Our position could have been far worse.

Still, fistfuls of coins were useless things against our worst enemy, time. I would have given it all to have Lija safe at my side. But the trail grew colder too. Every time I found someone who'd seen the gipsies pass through, their lead seemed to have stretched, and no one could ever recall seeing Lija as I described him.

Grandad wasn't doing so well, down from being half-sick all the time, and I wasn't much better. The cough got into my chest and wore me out sometimes, and my fingers were always cold. I made sure Grandad kept his hands bundled when he was out, but I couldn't work in mitts. Mostly Grandad stayed inside and gave me no argument about it, listless and dispirited. It wrenched my heart further to see him like that, after he'd seemed almost like his old self at the fair.

Driving at a creep through the Allegheny foothills with the winds in our face, we came at last to Union City. It was no city, just a town, but a fair sized one. I found us a hot bath and a warm hearth, and a good meal in the company of fellow travelers. We were little more than twenty miles out of Erie. I'd lost track. I asked, as I always did, and one man who'd come from there said he'd heard tell of gipsies in Erie lately. It wasn't the smoking campfire I always hoped for, but it gave my resolve a badly needed boost.


	25. Ash

I had my first sight of the great lake of Erie from the high hills on a clear, cold day. It was an endless expanse of featureless blue gray, and looked as much like an ocean as the one we'd left on the eastern coast. Below and ahead lay a flat land of pine forest shrouded in winter white, beyond which must be the city of Erie. I could see nothing of it, but we were close. I hoped to be there by nightfall. Regardless what I found in Erie, we had to stop. Mae was due to give birth in a few weeks time and I wanted to get her into a stable. We were in sore need of all manner of supplies. And Grandad was sick with fevers that came and went. I needed to settle him someplace warm and comfortable. I needed to find him a doctor.

The road into Erie was well kept and we met a good deal of traffic headed for Union City, wagons and carts, and even a carriage or two. We made better time than I'd expected we would and reached the outer edges of the city in the middle of afternoon, passing by scattered homesteads among the pines. The sun had gone and there was a hard, frosty nip in the air. As we drove by one dark and lonely looking place, I reigned in Mae to stop. It wasn't much more than a timber shack in a broad clearing off the road, overgrown and clearly abandoned.

Grandad was in the wagon, in bed I hoped. I set the brake and went to have a look, plowing through drifts and crunching over frozen, snow blanketed brush and debris. It was a ramshackle place, but solid enough. The door opened easily when I tried it. Twigs and dried leaves littered the floor, blown in through broken windows. It seemed bare, though there was little light for peering into corners. I checked the fireplace to see that the flue was clear. There were surely chinks in the walls where the wind came in but, all in all, I couldn't understand why no one was using the place. There was a lean-to outside that was large enough to shelter Mae. It was scattered with old broken planks that would have to be hauled out, but some of those could be used to cover the broken windows.

Or we could find an inn, have our meals cooked for us and hot water at our beck and call, and pay a small fortune for it. My hard won savings were dwindling fast. This felt like an opportunity I shouldn't discount out of hand. I went back to check on Grandad. He was shivering in his blankets, from the fever and the cold. I was of half a mind to take him into the empty cabin then and there so I could make a proper fire and get us both warm. But I hadn't the heart to leave him in a strange place alone while I went on into the city, which I had to do. I made him as comfortable as I could and left a lamp on low for him, then got us moving again, through the beginning of a fresh snowfall.

Dusk settled in as we left the forest behind for a stretch of open farming land. The snow came down hard for a while, blowing in our faces. Mae lowered her head and steadfastly drove through it. We'd been headed straight into that wind since turning due westward at Waverly. I was more than glad to see lights ahead at last, and to begin passing by the shapes of houses in the gloom. Low and muffled, a train whistle shrilled far off in the distance.

I stopped at the first tavern I came to and parked the wagon so Mae could have her head under a low eave. I fixed her an oat bag and then went in by myself, to get Grandad some hot food and to ask around about the abandoned cabin out at the edge of town. They were a somber lot and none too friendly, but I bought myself a beer to be companionable and used such charm as I still possessed for making folks feel at ease, and some of them loosened up at last.

"Old Harper's place, you mean. It's stood there empty for more than twenty years."

"The Potters own all the land it's attached to. If you're looking to buy, it'll do you no good."

I asked where these Potters could be found, thinking they might be willing to rent it out for a few weeks.

"Uptown. The Judge is in his office most days."

It was too late to think I could see the man that night anyway. The place was standing empty and surely no one would mind too much if we holed up there. One of the men agreed to sell me a few bales of hay and straw, and a half cord of seasoned kindling. I paid him for it in coin, on faith. He told me where to pick it up, and said he'd be there in an hour. It was on the way back out of town on the road we'd come, all the better.

A woman in an apron brought my pail filled with thick, steaming soup and a fresh loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth. I emptied my mug, offering thanks for the help, and asked in parting if they knew of any gipsies in the area. They did. There'd been a large camp of them out along the river south of the city. They'd been seen all over, for a time. Then there'd been trouble and the constabularies had sent them on their way. Why would I want to know about the gipsies?

I only said that I'd seen them back in Northampton and was curious. With a leaden heart at the news they'd moved on, I took my leave and went back out to the wagon and Grandad. I couldn't allow myself to dwell on it then, with life and death matters at hand. Grandad wasn't breathing well, but the fever wasn't too bad. I turned up the lamp flame and sat on the edge of his bunk. He fumbled for my hand and asked me where we were going now.

I told him we were going nowhere. "Just a little farther and we'll stop. We'll have a big fire and rest up for a while. Things will be better, Grandad." He nodded a little, trusting me. I got him sitting up, with rolled blankets to lean against and more tucked around him, and helped him to a drink, then we shared the soup. Grandad said he was hungry, but it took a lot of coaxing and spooning it into him on my part. I only ate it myself to warm my insides, because I had no appetite, feeling as if I'd been kicked in the stomach. I wanted to curl up someplace alone and go to sleep for a long, long time. Which of course I couldn't do.

With Grandad settled again and Mae cared for, I climbed up onto the wagon seat and we headed back out of town. The snow was coming down still, but less fiercely, and the wind was at our backs for a change. We came to the second farmhouse on the right without much trouble. The man I'd bargained with at the tavern was there ahead of us, as he'd promised. He wasn't keen on the weather, quickly showed me where the goods were housed and then left me to it. I lashed the bales precariously to the sides of the wagon, and stacked most of the fire wood inside. It took me twice as long as it should have, and climbing up onto the wagon seat after, I had to stop and catch my breath, my chest hurting. Mae snorted steam on the icy air and shook her tackle, impatient with me. I couldn't blame her. "Soon, lass. We'll be there soon."

It was no easy thing finding the place again, or keeping to the road for that matter. The snowfall had stopped by then, but all the landscape wore a fresh mantle, and it was white on white under a clouded moon. I carried a lantern lit on a peg overhead, but it shed too little light on the way ahead. I hardly knew we'd come to the forest until the darkness settled deeper all around, and I began to make out the tall shadowy pines lining the roadway. Some sense other than sight showed me the break in the trees when we reached the spot. Mae didn't want to go through until I'd plied her with promises of clean straw underfoot and fresh hay to eat, with walls to keep out the weather, a lot more than she was used to.

It was eerily quiet with the wind down. The shack loomed up at the edge of my lantern light, forbidding somehow. I had to urge Mae on again to pull the wagon as near to the door as we could, thinking of carrying in all that fire wood as much as Grandad's welfare. I set the brake and told Mae I'd be back to her in a few minutes, going into the wagon to tell Grandad the same. "There's a place here we can stay. I've just got to get Mae settled, then I'll make us that fire. All right, Grandad?" He gave me a bleary-eyed nod and told me to go on and take care of Mae.

I had to clear out the lean-to first thing and then spread down a good bed of straw. The shed obviously housed livestock at some time. A manger hung on the back wall, dilapidated but useable. I filled it with hay and brought in a bucket of water, all I could drain from the barrel until I could get it thawed out. I had enough for Grandad and me in bottles tucked under my coat. Mae balked when I led her in at last, but a half bucket of grain under her nose won her over. There was a gate, of sorts, but I'd have to put more time into securing it than I had that night, so I left her tied. She deserved a good brushing. I put a blanket over her and promised I'd do a better job in the morning.

Fresh snow had blown into the cabin. I gathered up an armload of the driest leaves and twigs to use for tinder, and set about getting a fire going in the hearth. The lantern cast strange shadows on the near wall and left the empty room behind me in blackness. I felt a creeping up the back of my neck, as if I was being watched, and had to struggle to keep my mind to my work. A hearty blaze leapt up at last and I started a pot of water heating right away. Then I brought in a broom and my mattress from the top bunk in the wagon, and swept a place clear for it in front of the fireplace.

Getting Grandad inside and settled comfortable was a greater feat than I'd foreseen. He could hardly stand on his own, and I was about worn out. I finally tucked his blankets close, and gratefully sat down by him to make tea. My hands were shaking, my heart beating too fast in an achy chest. I had a coughing fit and couldn't stop it for a while.

Grandad weakly gripped my knee. "Seanie."

I patted his hand and got my breath. "We'll be all right now, Grandad. There's some of that soup left. Are you hungry?" He just shook his head a little, and went on shivering, the fever rising again. I mopped his brow for him, and got myself a second wind. There was still plenty to be done. I had to bring in a water barrel and the rest of the kindling. And I needed to cover those broken windows before the wind picked up again.

I fed up the fire to a crackling inferno, and still wasn't warm. Believe me when I say, I had to bully myself into going back out in the cold. I couldn't have guessed what time it was, but it was far later before I'd dragged in enough wood to satisfy myself I wouldn't have to be stingy with it. Then I dragged myself around with the lantern, nailing up broken planks over the windows. I discovered chinks in the walls, as expected, and stuffed rags into them, until Grandad's faint raspy voice implored me to stop.

"It's enough, Seanie, rest."

I had to. Nothing left. I sank down at Grandad's back facing the fire, and limply tucked my arm around him. He was hot, but I was cold so no good judge of that. He was awake and told me he was all right, but I could feel he was shivering still inside. I said I'd find a doctor to come see him next day. No surprise, he declared he wanted no doctors, but I would anyway.

My tired body found the warmth it needed at last and eased into restfulness, but my mind found the ending of toil an excuse to wander. There was only Lija to think of, and how desperate it all felt. I hadn't let myself think past Erie, on what I'd do if he wasn't here. I didn't want to think on it then. It could be months now before we could even begin to pick up their trail again. The last of my hope was crumbling to ash.


	26. Yuletide

I slept longer than I'd meant to, and felt better for it. I hadn't fought through all the way to Erie just to give up. I would talk to people and see what I could find out. It wasn't over. The fire had burned down and needed tending to. I could feel the cold on my back side. Grandad had stopped shivering, that was a great relief. There was a wheeze in his breathing, but he was restfully asleep and the fever seemed down again. I got up quietly, leaving him all the blankets, and saw to the fire first thing. Once I had a good blaze going again, and a full pot of water hung over it to heat, I bundled up and went out with the lantern to take care of Mae.

A new dawn was gathering. The patch of sky I could see through the trees overhead shone a pale, pearly gray. Mae was in a restless and irritable mood, not like her. Master Montague had told me what signs to watch for as her time neared. I reached out to lay a hand on her belly, to bend down and have a look at her udder. She sidled away, laying back her ears and giving me a look that said otherwise. I quickly figured it in my head once more. She should have weeks to go yet. But maybe nature had different ideas. I brushed and gave her an extra helping of attention, then took time to fix the latch on the gate, and took her off the rope so she could move around more. Mae wasn't a likely one to wander, but I'd rather not worry about it.

Grandad was awake when I went back inside. He was lying there just staring into the fire, but perked up a bit when I sat down beside him, looked up at me and sort of smiled.

"Mack's come to show me the way."

I thought I hadn't heard him right and bent down close. "What say you, Grandad?"

"Mack's come," he said again.

It took a moment more for me to realize he meant his elder brother Mack, who'd been dead and gone for thirty years. I pushed up my sleeve some so I could touch to his brow a part of my skin that wasn't icy cold. But the fever seemed no worse, and less than it had been. He was dreaming of home, was all. He seemed less down and I was glad of that.

We had a hot breakfast, and plenty of warm water after for washing, and shaving too, a thing I'd been neglecting. I told Grandad I would have to go into the city for a while, told him we needed supplies, which we did. I could have bundled him back into the wagon and taken him along, but he was comfortable and seemed not to mind me going. I'd already decided anyway that I'd leave Mae to her rest and walk instead.

I first needed to find the man who owned this land and ask his permission to use the cabin. I didn't want any kind of trouble with anyone, and I'd put too much work into settling in there to want to have to move on again. I had to present my case well. If the man was a judge, he must be well educated. I took a volume from my special collection, hoping to trade, though it was hard choosing. I should have paid more attention to what they were saying at the tavern about the man.

I drank my tea with extra honey, to ease the coughing as much as possible, and I dressed for business, with my warmest coat over. I'd have to carry every bag and satchel we possessed to pack all the things we needed. It was going to be a long walk. I built Grandad a fire that would last a good few hours, and left a stack of kindling close at hand in case I was longer and it needed feeding. "Things'll be better, Grandad. You'll get well now." He patted my cheek and promised me he would.

It was farther to the center of the city than I'd quite counted on, and I had to go easy so it took me more than an hour to walk there. I tried to learn a bit on the way about Judge Potter, talking to folks and asking directions, but everyone was in a hurry to be somewhere else. It was Christmas time, so it seemed. Fresh cut pine boughs adorned lamp posts and doorways, and bands of carolers stood on street corners, filling the crisp cold air with song.

We should have been in Boston, sharing a hearth and a holiday meal with old friends. Because of me, Grandad was sick and alone in a strange place, on Christmas. I trudged on with a tightness in my chest, past shops and churches, along tree lined avenues, to a broad central park finally that took up an entire block. It was winter bare and the fountain was dry, but I walked through and sat for a few minutes to get my breath before going on again.

The courthouse was new and modern, standing four stories high, and situated across the street from the park. I edged my way into the crowd around a chestnut vendor, to warm my hands a little at his fire before going up the steps. Inside, I asked directions of a well dressed gentleman who hurried past me in the hall, and finally found my way there.

It read Judge Harold J. Potter on a plaque on the door, which stood open. I stepped inside and a harried young clerk with ink stained fingers looked up from his desk. He was clearly not pleased to have to deal with me and made no bones about it.

"The Judge is very busy. It's Christmas Eve, you know." He seemed to size me up. "He doesn't see solicitors at any rate."

I told him, "I'm not selling, I'm buying." He gave me no chance to explain.

"This is a house of government, not a market."

An inner door opened then and two men came out. One put on his hat and continued on, leaving the room as I'd come. The other, a small but imposing man with an inquisitive eye, stood and looked at me. He was dressed rather better than I was, in a tailor made suit of the best fashion. No judgely robes, but he otherwise looked every bit the part. I gave him a respectful nod and introduced myself. "Good day, your honor. Sean McGee at your service. I was hoping to speak with you on a matter concerning your property east of the city."

The clerk butted in. "I am sorry, sir. This man is asking to see you. I was about to send him away." The judge gave him one look and he sat down at his desk and said nothing more. The man looked at me then.

"Sean McGee," as if he was setting my name down in a notebook. "Step into my office, will you?"

The chamber I followed him into had a broad bayed window overlooking the park and the traffic on the streets below. Fine wood paneling gave the room a rich glow, and well cared-for books filled a case on one wall. He closed the door. "Sit down, if you like." I wasn't sure I should. I thought it best to state my business and not waste his time.

"I am a merchant, sir, but I'm not here to sell you anything. We've come a long journey over the mountains from Massachusetts, and we're in need of a place to get out of the cold for a few weeks. I spotted an abandoned cabin on the road outside of the city, and I was told the property was owned by your honor. I hoped we might make some arrangement, to our mutual benefit." I hardly had the breath to get all that out, but couldn't seem to stop anyway. "Your employee rightly informed me that this isn't the place for such business, as I know, and I apologize for taking your time on Christmas eve." It was Christmas eve. I'd completely lost count of the days.

Judge Potter sat down in one of two very comfortable looking chairs before the window, with a dismissive gesture toward the closed door. "He's the government's employee, not mine." He took from his breast pocket a pair of spectacles and put them on, and looked at me. "Sit down, Mr. McGee, please."

I supposed I should, or risk keeling over and making a fool of myself. I set down everything I was carrying with as little commotion as possible, and took the seat across from his. He sat very straight, leaned a little toward me on one elbow, as if he thought I had something important to say.

"You're from the east, are you? I hear a hint of Boston in your accent."

"Yes, sir, Boston and thereabouts." He asked me what they were saying in Boston about their new mayor. I didn't feel much qualified to say, and tried to hedge. "That would depend on which side of the fence they're on, I suppose, sir."

The man pursed his lips and nodded slightly. "What do you think, Mr. McGee?"

So I had to think, when I wasn't feeling all that clear of mind. "Well, sir, I spend a lot of my time away from the city, but if I had to live with it, I'd say our honorable mayor has too much of his own interests at heart." To my astonishment, the judge agreed with me.

"Indeed. I expect he'll be voted out next election. He does have some interesting ideas though, for bringing more water to the city. Water is a growing problem in Boston, I hear."

I didn't want to harangue, but found my tongue loosened by his willingness to listen. "Ideas are fine things, but most think throwing money at the problem isn't the way to fix it." I caught a hint of amusement in his expression then, and cut it short. "I'll hope I'm mistaken though."

The judge asked me what my trade was, and showed the interest of a learned man. From what I could see of the books on his shelves, most were concerned with law and government. For that reason, and for the fact I'd been told in no uncertain terms this was not an office of business, I left in my bag the volume of literature I'd brought for barter. I was fairly sure by then that it wouldn't interest him.

We talked of politics a bit more, or he did. I wasn't feeling particularly well and began to wish for an end to the interview. The longer I was in the man's presence, the less sure of myself I felt. There was one thing I did need reliable information about however, and he broached the subject himself at last.

"What brings you to Erie?"

I told him. "A personal matter, concerning the gipsies you had in your city recently."

Of course, he gave me a too intent look. "A personal matter?"

I figured I could hardly make it worse and said, "They took something from me."

That seemed to surprise the man. "I don't recommend vendetta, Mr. McGee, not from this office. They're gone now at any rate. They took things here also, though it couldn't be proven."

On that, I couldn't comment. I didn't like to think of Lija's family as thieves, but how could I know? "I don't mean to make trouble with them, sir, if it can be helped, but I have to go after them, when I can. Would you know where they were headed when they left here?"

"I'm afraid not. There was a great number of them and I'm told they split in different directions when they moved on."

My heart sank yet again, even lower if that was possible. There was a rap at the door, and the clerk looked in to remind Judge Potter he was meeting William Scott in half an hour. I pushed myself to my feet, apologizing again for taking the man's time.

The judge rose also. "You're welcome to stay in the old place as long as you're out by spring. They'll be taking the timber from that area in a few months and the land will go to farming. The house will come down sooner or later." I thanked him, and he took my hand to shake. "Good fortune in your endeavors, Sean McGee. A merry Christmas to you." There was nothing I could do but go.

The market was bustling, the mood in the air one of general merriment, or the anticipation of such. It felt as if I was being tossed on a sea of strangers. I needed to get back to Grandad. There was so much we needed, but I only bought what we couldn't do without, and something special for Grandad, seeing it was Christmas. Then I headed back toward the edge of town.

I stopped, weary and footsore, at the tavern I'd first visited the night before. The same men were there, most of them, though it was the middle of afternoon still. Christmas eve, I had to keep reminding myself. I tarried only long enough to catch my breath and to inquire as to whether there was a doctor nearby, one who had a cart and might not mind being dragged out to see a patient. The woman from the kitchen gave me a name and address.

It was already later than I'd meant to be, so I hurried and came there out of breath. The door of the modest house I found was opened by an older woman with a kindly, concerned countenance. She didn't frown and tell me to come back after the holiday, just stepped aside to let me in, and showed me to a small but well lighted anteroom where I could sit down.

The doctor quickly came, seeming like he'd come from somewhere he'd rather be. He wasn't unkind, just all business. I rose from the stuffed chair I'd settled on, but he waved me back and sat down opposite.

"Have you had that cough more than a week?"

A little distractedly, I shook my head. "I'm not here for me. I need for you to see my old Grandad. He's had hard fevers lately, and a wheeze in his breathing. I left him beside a fire a few hours ago, in a shack they call Harper's place, out on the east road. I know it's poor timing, but I'll pay you what's right."

The man took in a breath and seemed to resign himself. "Do you have a carriage?"

I said only, "No." I didn't have the breath to explain why I was on foot, didn't have the breath to keep from another coughing fit. The doctor got up and brought me a cup of water, and said nothing else. Fortunately, the doctor had a covered cart, though nothing fancy. I followed him to the small stable in back of the house, and helped as I could with getting his horse geared.

We drove the whole way in silence, out the east road in the gathering twilight, and into the pine wood. All those trees destined to be felled seemed already in mourning for their doom. With the wind down, it was still and quiet, and I heard the racket well before we got there. Mae was kicking at her walls, not happy about something.

The doctor stopped his horse and braked the cart. "You'd better see to your horse, Mr. McGee. Your grandfather is in the house? I'll go ahead, if you don't mind." He did, regardless.

I went to the lean-to and let myself in. "Stop it, lass, you'll bring the whole place down on our heads. I'm here. You're all right." I stroked her nose and spoke to her softly, but she was in a mood. I gave her more grain but she didn't want it. She'd hardly touched her hay. It was entirely possible she just didn't like being walled in. The space wasn't really big enough for her, but there was little I could do about it then. I headed inside.

Grandad was awake, staring into the fire, taking no notice the doctor was there. He was in a fever and the fire was nearly out. I dropped to my knees to take care of that right away, then lit another lamp so the doctor could better see what he was doing. He seemed to do very little, didn't even open his scuffed leather bag.

"Your Grandfather has pneumonia, Mr. McGee, complicated by advanced age. There's really nothing to be done but keep him warm and comfortable."

And let him die. That's what the man was saying, in Grandad's hearing. I pushed myself to my feet and stepped away, angry. The doctor rose and followed me.

"I can get him into the hospital, if you wish."

To take his last breath surrounded by strangers? "No. I'll take care of him." I fished from my pocket what I figured was a fair price for all his trouble, but he declined to take it.

"It's Christmas." He told me I had bronchitis into the bargain and gave me something for it from his bag. Nothing for Grandad.

I thanked him and saw him off in the early evening gloom. Anger gave way to desperation. I went back inside and did what I could for Grandad. I mopped his brow and just talked to him, telling him what I'd spent the day doing, until he came around some and started listening.

"It's Christmas, Grandad, did you know? I almost let it pass with the way things have been. I got you something special." I pulled it from my pocket to show him, a big round glossy-skinned orange. I'd picked through the basket of them to get the prettiest one. It brought a smile to Grandad's face, as I'd dearly hoped it would. I peeled it for us with stiff, frozen fingers, no easy task.

"I think the foal's coming soon, Grandad." I wasn't sure he understood what I was saying, but I went on talking to him until my throat was sore and aching. He took a piece of orange from my fingers with some coaxing, and smiled a little, but wouldn't have any more. I put it aside and tucked the covers closer around him. "Do you need another blanket, Grandad?"

He looked up at me with a bright, shiny glint in his green eyes. A breath of a whisper. "I've lived a long time." He didn't need a doctor to tell him his end was near. He knew.

I was sick inside. I'd brought him to this place he didn't know to die, so far from home. "Grandad," I took his hand and held it tight, tears flooding my eyes. "There's a priest in the city. I can go and bring him back, just in case… if you want."

Grandad pulled his hand from mine and raised it to my face. "Stop your fussing, Seanie. You'll be all right."

I put my hand over his and held it there. "What will I do without you?"

"You'll find that lad of yours. And you'll have a good life." He took in a long breath, and smiled a little. "As your old Grandad did."

I wiped my face on my sleeve and did my damnedest to be as brave as he was.

"You go on now, and take care of Mae. It'll be a fine colt, Seanie… Lija said."


	27. Birth

Mae seemed unsure whether she wanted me there or not. I hung the lantern high, as much out of reach as possible, so she couldn't knock it in her swaying about. But she knocked me up against the walls a few times, and I was sure she knew she was doing it. By all the signs Master Montague had instructed me in, she was surely in labor, but the time dragged by unmercifully, until her water suddenly broke and then it all seemed to happen in a flash.

I watched from as near as I could get as the foal's front legs and head popped out. Near enough to see it was black as its sire, but not whether it was breathing. It looked limp and lifeless as a doll, but Mae gave another heave and dropped him right into my arms, and he kicked his legs and gasped. Lija's colt. I sank down to my knees with him and reached for the blankets I had at hand, as Mae swung around to see and smell her brand new babe.

The colt let out one forlorn little bleat and then lay there only shivering. Mae set to licking him while I rubbed him with blankets, until she decided I wasn't doing it right and pushed me away. It occurred to me maybe I should wait until I knew he was all right before telling Grandad, but I took the chance then and went.

The fire was burning well, so it hadn't taken all the hours it had felt like. It was still too late. Grandad was dead. I'd let him die alone after all. I had to close his eyes with my hands icy cold. But he looked so peaceful. If he'd had regrets, they didn't trouble him at the end. Who could hope for better after a long life?

I asked God to please take care of my Grandad.

I left the fire to die.


	28. Breath

In silvery bursts against a pale dawn light, icy snow blew in the open front of the lean-to on a bitter wind. But I wasn't cold anymore. Mae was down in the straw where I could lean against her full warmth, and I had the colt's head in my lap with the blankets tucked around us. He was breathing, and Mae was breathing, and I guess I was, though not easily. That was all I knew for sure. I felt limp and heavy, and couldn't seem to move, though I knew I should. I couldn't sit there forever, aching heart or no. But my head hurt as well and I couldn't keep a straight thought. Time would pass and I'd tell myself I had to do something, then more time would pass, and there I still was. I don't know where the hours went, but somehow night fell again, and I found myself for a time sprawled in the straw under Mae's feet.

I dreamed of Grandad, walking in a field with his brother Mack, having a good chew over all the years passed. I wanted to go with them, but they couldn't hear my calling and left me behind. Then I dreamed of Lija and knew I couldn't go yet. He told me I needed to get up, which I knew. I just couldn't. "I'm too tired," I tried to say. "I have to sleep." He shook his head at me, jingling the bells on his wide brimmed hat. Then he pulled me into his arms and breathed a warm, soft breath on my face, saying it would be all right, he would never leave again.


	29. Thirst, Dark, Taste, Touch, Scent, Sound

_Fever heat, parched throat  
My mind wanders in a dream  
Of cool trickling streams_

_Picatel chitters  
Tender comfort lights my dark  
Lija holds me tight_

_Bitter ashes and bile  
Medicine and sweet, warm tea  
Water, cold and clean_

_Fingers gently stroke  
Lija's lips cool on my cheek  
The softest of breaths_

_Warm smells of cooking  
Tang of smoke, and spice  
Barley broth, but not_

_Please let me wake now  
And find it real, bells tinkling  
Lija whispering_


	30. Sight

"Can you wake up now, Sean? Please?"

As if coming back from a faraway place, I opened my eyes, in the wagon, in Grandad's bed. And Lija was there. I wasn't dreaming, I didn't think, not this time. My voice croaked when I tried to use it. "Grandad… he's dead."

Lija's fingers softly stroked my forehead, those beautiful eyes filling with tears. "I know, Sean. He is in the house. He will be safe there."

I couldn't take my eyes from his mouth saying the words. The sweet sound of his voice in my ears. "Mae," I managed to ask.

"Mae is fine, Sean, and the colt is up and nursing. Poor Mae, she had to take care of her baby and not step on you at the same time." He smeared his palms across his eyes and turned away. I tried to hold to him but I could hardly move, weak, wasted. I must have been an awful mess, but the sheets felt clean and dry. I had no clothes on under the blankets. To think of Lija taking care of me like that.

"Don't cry, Sean. It will be all right now."

Lifting my head, he offered me a drink of something steaming warm, honeyed tea. I swallowed it gladly, though it didn't go down well. He took it back and set it away, then leaned over me, looking into my eyes. Having him there, all the hell I'd gone through getting to him should have meant nothing, but I needed to understand. "You left me, Lija."

The regret and anguish I saw on his face then made me wish I hadn't said it. "I didn't want to, Sean. Terkari… tricked me. But I came back when I could and waited. I had to work to have money or I would have come to meet you."

It still made no sense to my muddled mind, but I didn't want to see that look on his face. A look of guilt, and maybe fear that I'd throw him right back out. Which I wouldn't ever do. Couldn't. I found the strength to raise a hand and touch my fingers to his lips. "No, Lija. I'm just grateful you're here." He caught my shaking hand and held it, fresh tears glimmering in his eyes.

"I will never leave again, Sean."


	31. Light

I woke again to a soft, early morning light coming in the small front window, a smell of wood fire and cooking. With an act of will, I dragged myself up against the head of the bunk. Lija had our iron hotbed set in the middle of the floor and had a fire burning in it. "Lija, you can't… "

He looked up at me with his eyes wide, then glanced down at the fire again and seemed to see what I meant. "It is all right, Sean. I packed soil under it to keep the heat from the floor."

Smart lad, my Lija. But how did he find dirt he could dig in the middle of winter, I wondered. I didn't ask. There were too many questions tumbling through my mind to waste breath. "Lija, when is it? How long did I sleep?"

He left off stirring his cookpot to come sit on the edge of the bed and tuck the blankets up around me. "I came five days ago. You have been very sick, Sean. But you will get better now." He had on gloves with the fingers cut short, and his own fingers sticking out of them looked red and chapped.

I laid my hand over his and they were like ice. "You're cold."

Lija took my hand in both of his. "Not so much, Sean. You're warm still."

Five days. I felt better than the last time I remembered. The tight aching in my chest was eased. But my head felt light and woozy, and my body uncooperative. The ache was in my stomach now, one of emptiness.

"You should lie back down and rest. I will have rice porridge for you in a little while, with cherries." He smiled.

I was more than glad for the smile, but I couldn't lie back down. I'd rested enough. "How did you know, Lija? How ever did you find me?"

He seemed not to think it amazing in the least. "I knew you would come on this road so I asked people to watch for you, and some of them saw your wagon come and go. They could not get a message to me right away or I would have come sooner, Sean… in time to see Grandad."

Grandad would have liked that. "You were in his thoughts, Lija. He wished us well."

With a sob of a breath, he was in my arms. "I am sorry to be so happy, Sean."

I understood that too well. "Don't be sorry, Lija." If it was anyone's fault Grandad was dead, it was mine. But Grandad wouldn't have seen it that way, I knew. "He wouldn't want us crying over him, not too much."

Lija wrapped his arms around me and laid his head on my bare shoulder, and I held him to me as best I could. It was just where I wanted him forever. He was shivering, cold. I tugged a loose blanket around to cover him. "Did you wait here long, Lija? How did you get by?"

He breathed a quiet sigh. "I have been working on the coal barges. I took only what was mine when I left, and I needed to buy some things." He had new clothes, or good used ones, of the sort a man working manual labor would wear, plain dark trousers and simple shirts, with a rough woolen sweater over. There hardly looked to be any gipsy left in him, paled by winter as he was, but it had surely been easier for him so, alone among strangers.

"You were out there on your own because of me." It made me shudder to imagine. "The world's a hard place."

"I know how the world is," he said. From the look on his face, I was sure he did, better than I.

There was a sudden, wild scratching at the door, and Lija had to go and let Picatel in. The little beast came running right over and leapt up onto the bed, where he gave me a sniff and then tried to wriggle under the covers. Lija told him no, but not too seriously.

"Picatel knows where to get warm." Lija snatched him up and gave him a talking to, then put him back down and went to see to our breakfast. Picatel curled up on my lap and went to sleep under my stroking fingers, while I watched Lija ladle a bowl of porridge for us and bring it over.

"I saved the last of the dried cherries for you, Sean."

I was touched. He'd also cut them into little bits so they'd stained the porridge pink. I told him it was the prettiest breakfast I'd ever had. He smiled and tried to feed it to me. It was sweet of him, but more than a little humiliating. I told him I could manage a spoon well enough, and did, though not easily. And I couldn't get down very much before my stomach began feeling like it wasn't food it wanted after all. I told him I was sorry, that I'd have more later. He set the bowl aside finally and stretched out beside me and Picatel on the bed.

"This is a magical place."

I got my arm around him so he could lean close. "What do you mean, Lija?"

He shrugged slightly. "It feels of magic here. It is like how old ruined places sometimes feel, as if the land is blessed by those who came before." He leaned his head back and reached into the little nook where Grandad had kept his special things, and brought out the painted tiger. It stalked across the blankets and pounced on my chest, complete with little growls and rumblings. I laid my hand over Lija's and pressed a trembling kiss to his forehead, since it was right there. I would be dead along with Grandad if he hadn't come. And then where would poor Mae have been?

I felt like I should get outside and check on her. I hadn't even seen the colt yet, not really. Lija said he was taking care of them and I shouldn't worry, and distracted me with other things. He had a hat with a string of various jingling things sewn around the brim. He showed me one that Mamou had given him, a beautiful little silver bell, finely etched. And he returned my cap to me, so sorry he'd kept it. I told him I was glad he'd had it with him to remember me by.

The wagon looked cleaner and brighter inside. He'd swept out the mess I'd made with the fire wood and tidied up the place, as well as washing out all our bedding, obviously. I hated to think of the mess he'd found, myself not the least of it. He distracted me again, holding my hand and painting a picture for me of the future he saw.

"We will be so happy together, Sean. I will help you to sell your books, and you will read to me and teach me to read to you."

It would be a dream come true.


	32. Care

I woke from a dark dream with the thought that Grandad must be cold. I'd said it aloud, evidently. Lija jerked awake at my side. His cool fingers touched my cheek.

"Grandad is gone. His spirit is set free, Sean."

As I knew. It was just weighing on me, I supposed, that I had to decide what to do about his earthly remains. Lija might have spent hours scraping the ground in a sunny place to get enough dirt to bank the firepit, but there would be no digging a grave in January.

It was dark. The fire in the small heating stove near the bed was almost out. Lija moved to throw off his blankets and get up to feed it, but I held him there. "Don't go. It'll be morning soon enough. I'll keep you warm." He settled back into my arms. The covers were between us, but I hadn't felt well enough to hardly even think of having him closer. Yet. And Lija seemed happy just to be held, usually.

"I am awake, Sean. I should start breakfast and take care of Mae and the colt."

I said Mae wouldn't mind overmuch if he was a little late. So he lingered until the twilight of dawn crept in the window pane above, and early morning light began to fill in the shadowy corners. He'd fallen asleep again, with his nose tucked up under my ear. I could feel his breath, warm and moist on the side of my neck. The last thing I wanted was to wake him, but it was out of my hands.

Picatel squeezed himself in through the trap door in the ceiling that was propped open to draw out the smoke, landed on the bare planking where my mattress had been, and leapt down from there squarely onto my middle. He wasn't all that heavy, but he was heavy enough to knock the wind out of me. Then he shook cold wet over us both. Lija was fully awake by then, pushing him away, then pulling him close.

"How did you get out?"

I couldn't get enough breath to speak, but pointed up at the trap door. Lija exclaimed at how skinny he must be getting. "Hunting is harder for him in the winter. He must have been hungry." Lija let him go and he curled himself up tight against my side to get warm. I finally got a good breath into my lungs, but it started me coughing. Lija fussed. "Picatel is sorry, Sean. He would not hurt you for no reason."

As well as I could, I told him I wasn't hurt. Insisted on it even. I'd been in bed long enough. I wanted to help with things. But he wouldn't have it. He got up and fed the dying fire in the stove, then revived the one in the hotbed and started a pot of water heating. He promised he wouldn't be long, then put on his coat and his jingly hat and went out.

As soon as the door was closed, I shoved off the bedcovers to try getting up. Picatel looked me in the eye and showed me his teeth a little, unwilling to give up his hot spot, it seemed. Lija hadn't said he wouldn't hurt me if he had a good reason to. I took the risk anyway, with a friendly word in parting, and he burrowed under the covers and disappeared.

Getting onto my feet took some doing. Finding my clothes took more. I persevered, and had myself dressed and settled at the fire, making the tea, when Lija came back. He wasn't pleased and made me promise to go easy. I couldn't have done much else anyway. I had to lean up against the cupboards as it was. I laid a hand on the floor beside me. "Come sit with me, Lija."

He had a length of rope and one of our old blankets, freshly washed, and brought them with him. He said he wanted to make a coat for the colt, so he wouldn't keep shaking it off. "He is getting… " Lija had to search out the word he wanted. "Exuberant." It was a doozy.

I said, "I sure would like to see him, and Mae too." I helped Lija as I could, stirring the cookpot while he worked on the blanket. I would have helped him with that. I was fairly good with a needle and thread. But my hands were shaking too much, and close work like that would have made it obvious. I didn't want to see the worry on Lija's face any longer. I had to push through it and get back on my feet.

I felt more steady after moving around some. When Lija asked me if I was feeling well after we'd had breakfast, I told him I felt great. A small exaggeration. He said if I was sure, I could go out for a while as he walked Mae around so she could stretch her legs, and I was all for it. We bundled up and left the wagon.

It was cold, but the sun was shining down and there was no wind to speak of. I took my time and leaned on things when I had to. Passing by the cabin door gave me a sick, uneasy feeling. I still had to make up my mind about Grandad. Lija stayed close to me, and found me a sunny spot and an old crate to sit on, then opened the gate and brought me Mae on a lead. The colt stood looking out a few seconds, then bounded after her.

Mae lowered her head and nudged me in the face, sharing her warm breath with me. I coddled her. "What a grand thing you've done, my lass. I'm sorry I was more a hindrance than a help." The colt stood still for a moment, peering at me around Lija, curious more than shy, then he was off again. He was a sight to see and no mistake. "He needs a name, Lija."

"Coal," Lija announced.

I'd expected him to choose something exotic, and probably hellish to pronounce. I smiled. "I like it."

Lija said it made him think of the barges, and thinking of the barges made him think of me. "You are all I thought about, Sean. Every minute, every day." He walked Mae around the clearing while Coal darted here and there, boldly leaving his mother's side again and again to explore. He was a little unsure on his feet, but not nearly as wobbly as I'd expected. Lija said he'd started slow but Mae was feeding him well.

I went with him finally to take them back to the lean-to and make sure they were comfortable. After the shameful way I'd failed Mae, I thought it only fair to give her a good brushing while I was there, and wore myself breathless before Lija came back from fetching water and made me stop.

"You have a fever still, Sean. Mamou would make you lie in bed for much longer." He put his hands on my head and kissed my brow and then frowned at me. "There, you see, you've made it worse."

I didn't see, just stood there like a fool until my knees gave out. Lija had to help me into the wagon and back to bed. I was two more days lying on my back before I felt up to trying that again. And I did as Lija told me to, even drank Mamou's wretched recipe for fevers, and let him feed me. It was humiliating, and comforting, and frustrating after all that long hard journey dreaming of taking care of him. But I got to keep him warm at night.


	33. Passing

Lija was almost out of rice, he said. He hadn't been able to find any in Erie, only something they called wild rice from a place called Minnesota, and it wasn't good for porridge. "Isn't Minnesota a strange name for a place, Sean?"

I'd been lounging there in bed just listening to him talk, comforting my ears with the sound of his voice and not really paying attention to what he was saying. I picked it up as I could and told him, "They're Indian names, a lot of them."

Lija came and snuggled down beside me with his map from the fair, unrolled it for us to look at, and asked me to show him some Indian names.

I looked it over and pointed out a town on the southern shore of the great lake Michigan. "Chicago. That sounds like an Indian name. Michigan too."

Lija studied that area on the map. "What tribe, do you know?" I didn't. He said he'd met people from the tribe of Tutelo in Virginia. "I learned some of their language. All of this land used to belong to the Indians, did you know, Sean? We took it from them."

That was a statement I felt needed clarifying. "I didn't, Lija, and neither did you."

He looked at me with his eyes wide. "But we're here, free to go where we want, and they have to live where they're told to."

"They warred on us, still do out west by all accounts."

"But we warred on them first, didn't we?"

I corrected him again. "Not we, Lija. You and me, we aren't taking anyone's land. We're just traveling through. The English and Spanish and Dutch took the Indians' land. Those who can, take what they want from those who can't. That's how it's always been."

He said, "It shouldn't be."

I couldn't disagree. "No, it shouldn't."

Lija rolled up the map to put away. "I would not wish to go to Chicago anyway, or Minnesota. I want to be someplace warm."

I put my arm around him and drew him close against me. "That sounds like a nice idea about now." He hugged me and I warmed him as best I could. I felt better, truly, and I couldn't lie there doing nothing forever. I asked Lija what the date was and he said Tuesday, he thought. Other than that, he didn't know. I tried figuring the time in my head, but I'd missed too much of it.

Lija was restless and wouldn't settle for long. He said he needed to go and collect more deadwood. The supply of firewood I'd bought was dwindling, but I hated for him to have to drag through the woods in the cold.

"We can buy more firewood, Lija. There'll be someone in town who can drive a load out here. I'll go and ask around." He wouldn't have it, not me walking into town.

"I would go myself, Sean, but there is no need with plenty of fallen wood close, for free."

I said I'd help him then, but he wouldn't have that either. He took himself from my arms and pushed me back when I moved to at least get myself out of bed.

"No, Sean, you have to get well."

There was no point in arguing about it. I let him tuck me back in and watched him put on his coat and his hat and go out, then I got myself up and dressed. It was late morning, a gray and overcast day. Lija had already done everything that needed doing, even had a pot of something aromatic simmering over the fire, with a kettle of snow melt beside for tea. I couldn't doubt Mae and the colt had been well cared for, but I could go out and see them for a bit anyway. I felt far steadier that morning.

Mae greeted me cheerfully, apparently pleased enough with the way things were going. Coal hid behind her for a few minutes and only peeked at me, but finally gave in to curiosity and let me lure him out. I didn't have a great knowledge of the finer points of horse-breeding, but he looked like a fine little fellow to me. It wrenched my heart a little that Grandad hadn't gotten to see him.

I was leaned there on the gate rail lost in thought when Lija came back from the wood pulling a canvas piled with an old fallen tree he'd dismembered. He promptly dropped his tools and threw up his hands. "Sean!"

"Lija, I'm all right. It's all right." He came and hugged me, and I wrapped my arms around him. "Is there anything we need left in the cabin?" He looked at me very seriously and said he'd brought out everything. I told him what I thought. "We should burn it down, Lija, the cabin. We can send Grandad off in the way of the old kings of legend." Grandad would have liked that, since he couldn't be buried in Ireland.

"Would it be safe to do, Sean, with all the trees so close?"

On a calm day. "I know how to go about it." Back in Boston many years past, I'd helped with the task of burning a row of disease infested houses. "We'll need some things from town. I can go, Lija. I feel good."

Lija said no, emphatically. "You will tell me what to get and I will go."

I guess I knew he was right. There would be enough to do to wear me out without a long walk into town. The wagon would have to be moved, and Mae and the colt would need a shelter well away from the cabin. Lija seemed to be reading my mind.

"I will help, Sean, but later. You have to go inside for a while now. The soup will be ready."

I went inside with him and dutifully rested for a couple of hours more, then we spent the afternoon getting the wagon moved. If I'd been hale, we might have been able to push it ourselves, but instead had to hitch up Mae. We went at it carefully and she seemed to have no trouble. With the wagon at last re-settled near the roadside, there was still a shelter to rig for the horses, but Lija insisted we'd done enough for the day, and dusk was approaching. I was tired and couldn't deny it. But I did feel easier at heart.

The next morning dawned mild and still with a dampness in the air. It was like a sign, in case I was having any doubts. Lija wanted to help me, but I managed to convince him to go on into town and get that done while I worked on the shelter myself. With the decision made, I felt almost driven to do it and have it over. I told Lija the things I'd need for them to bring, and gave him more than enough silvers to cover it. He told me to please not work too hard, then headed into town.

I took my time, as best I could, but worked at it straight through, taking apart the lean-to enough to get at the support beams, then working them into a structure against the wagon that I could cover with canvas. I'd eventually need more canvas to do it right, but it worked, and it was something we could pull down and take with us, when we finally moved on. If I could find a place on the wagon to stow it.

Mae was a little put out by the whole business of being moved here and moved there. Coal didn't like the noise I was making, but he was far more curious than bothered. I moved them into their new shelter when it was done, then sat on the wagon's side rail to wait. To get my breath.

Lija had been gone for hours, it felt like. An occasional cart or carriage rattled by. There was traffic on the road during the day, though not a lot. I listened as they approached, those coming from town, and watched as they passed, and waited, for another hour and more before Lija returned. I had enough of a second wind by then to get up and meet them.

The cart driver surely wondered what we had in mind to do with a half barrel of pitch oil and a dozen torches, but the man never asked or commented. He lent a hand with the unloading, then turned his cart around and headed back. Lija inspected the shelter, suspiciously exclaiming at how quickly I'd gotten it done. Then he insisted we go into the wagon and get something warm to drink.

It was the middle of afternoon by then, with work still to be done getting the cabin ready. Lija wanted to wait another day, wanted me to rest, but I couldn't. "I need to get it done, Lija." Grandad had waited long enough for me to do what was right. "And it needs to be done before word gets around. We don't want a crowd out here, like it's some kind of show."

Lija understood, and said he would help me. "Are you sure the man whose place it is won't mind?"

I just nodded. As long as I didn't burn down the lumber, I was sure the judge wouldn't mind. We bundled in coats and went out again before dusk fell, to set it all up.

I hadn't been inside the cabin since the night the colt was born. It was dark and cold, and Grandad still lay there on my mattress by the hearth, covered over with a single blanket. Lija was right, I knew, that his spirit was long gone. But I knelt by him for a little while anyway, and bade him a proper goodbye.

We wedged the torches where I thought they'd do the most good, and tore down enough boards from the broken windows to let a good draft through. I tipped the barrel and poured the oil all around, soaked the blanket in it, then set it alight.

As the flames spread, Lija gripped my arm and dragged me out the door. Though I'd built their shelter on the far side of the wagon, Mae was alarmed. Lija quieted her fears and the colt's with calm words and then silently joined me on the front wagon seat to watch.

White hot fire burned fiercely through the chinks and the window slots, consuming everything inside, then the walls collapsed in with a great crackling whoosh. For a time, the flames seemed to lick the sky, and Lija held tightly to my arm, worried for the trees. But it settled down quickly enough.

Night fell as I sat there, grieving for what should have been. "I would have taken him home. I meant to."

Lija softly said, "He is surely home by now in his spirit, Sean." He'd brought out his fiddle and he played Grandad a song on it that nearly had me in tears, though I know it wasn't meant to be sad. The fire gradually died down to a smoking smolder. All that still stood was the blackened stone chimney. Lija leaned close at my side with his arm around my middle. "Soon, Sean, we can leave here."

We would, of course. We'd move on to somewhere, and somewhere else after. But I couldn't quite see myself doing it at that moment, leaving Grandad behind.

Lija said we should go inside, so I went with him. He sat down on the floor to build up the fire. I sank down onto the bunk and curled up there, too worn out to do any more. Lija came and stretched out beside me.

I breathed a sigh and laid my head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Lija, just feeling a little down." Exhausted too. "It'll be all right."

Lija pulled the covers over both of us, and lay there lovingly stroking my hair as I let my eyes close. "It will be all right, Sean."


	34. Healing

I woke to the smell of wood smoke, the fire crackling with pine sap. Picatel was under the covers, curled against my side. Lija wasn't. I opened my eyes. It was early still, not much past dawn. I was moving to drag myself up when the wagon door opened and Lija came in. There was fresh snow dusting his hair and his coat was off. He gave me a small, uncertain smile, and came to sit on the edge of the bunk. I reached for his hand and found it icy cold and damp from washing. He'd changed his clothes from head to toe. "Lija?"

He dropped his eyes, then looked at me again, and he put Grandad's wedding ring into my hand, brought out of the ruin. "It's a part of Grandad to take with us, Sean." He seemed unsure whether I would love him for it or hate him. I pulled him into my arms and held to him tight, weeping like a baby.

Sometimes, out of pain, comes joy. Somehow, the time was finally right for being in love. I took his mouth with mine in a salty wet kiss, and he kissed me back with his whole body. I'd fretted I wouldn't know what to do, but my body so yearned for his in return, nature took it's own course with little assistance from my brain. It was over far too soon, leaving us twisted and turned and panting. I gazed into his beautiful eyes with a breathless laugh, and he wrapped his arms around my neck, smiling a dreamy smile. Then we did it again as it was supposed to be done, under the covers with our clothes off.

What a work of art is my Lija. I never tire of the feel of him or the scent of him, of just having him naked in my arms. Lija can be a fount of impulsive passion, then endearingly shy, in the space of a minute. I'd thought once that he put on masks and feared I'd never see the real Lija, but it was all real. He was so filled with life and love, it just couldn't be contained.

That first time making love with Lija was bliss and rapture and, I admit, a little overwhelming. It wore me out completely, but I felt as if I'd been reborn.


	35. Tales

"Have you done these things before, Sean?"

I winced a little inside, couldn't help it. I wished I could say I hadn't, but we couldn't start out like that with lies. "Once, when I was young." I got a few good breaths, gathering my thoughts.

Lija lay with his fingers playing in the hair on my chest, and he could feel my heart thumping. "You don't have to tell me, Sean."

In fact, I didn't want to even think about it. "I was very young, and it wasn't what I'd hoped for." He sighed and gently kissed my bare shoulder. I was pretty sure I didn't really want to know, but I asked him all the same. "Have you done these things before, Lija?"

"Only alone. Mamou said I should wait."

I knew how unreasonable it was to feel that way, but I was glad.

"Mamou told me long ago that I would find my destiny with a stranger met on the road. Mamou sometimes knows what will be."

I held him close against me. "You'll miss Mamou."

He slipped his arm around me. "I will, Sean. But if I had not come, I would be missing you."

"I hope you'll never regret it, Lija."

He softly laughed. "I will not." Nuzzling into the side of my neck, he breathed warm breath at my ear, running his restless hand over my nakedness under the blankets, needing more.

I caught at my breath. "Lija… don't think I can, yet." I wished fervently otherwise, but my body wasn't keeping up very well.

Lija hugged me. "I am sorry, Sean. You rest now." He started to get up.

I held to him. "Don't go." He kissed me, and kissed me again, smiling into my eyes.

"I will come back. There is breakfast to finish, and we need a cloth for washing."

We did, at that. I reluctantly let him go, and he wriggled out from under the covers to patter across the wood floor in his bare feet, bare all over. I couldn't take my eyes from the sight of his pale skin all aglow with the firelight. He wet a cloth from the kettle of hot water, and came back to the bed with it. I let him clean me up, since he wanted to, embarrassed to the point of blushing at his exclaiming over how handsome I was. Then Picatel came leaping down from the bunk frame overhead. He'd made himself scarce at some point, apparently not caring for the ruckus.

Lija went and opened the door so he could slip out, and told him to be good, then went back to the fire to dish up breakfast for us. "This is the last of the rice, Sean. But we have enough of other things to last a while yet." He brought the bowl and two spoons, and dragged his pack up onto the bed before sliding back under the covers beside me. "Look what Mamou gave me before I left." He pulled out a little jacket and handed it to me. "Mamou said it was mine when I was little."

It was clearly something fine, handsomely sewn of dark brown velvet. He'd said they found him, and I'd pictured him in the moonlight, bare and baby plump. Not wearing a tailored suit of clothes. Stolen by gipsies? The stories were told, whether they were fact or fancy. The garment bore its maker's tag. "Herzog and Meisener… Vienna, Austria."

Lija took up the bowl of porridge to try, making like he wasn't really interested. But if he didn't want me thinking about it, he wouldn't have shown it to me.

"Lija, do you know when your birthday is?"

He shrugged a little. "No, but I am eighteen years old, probably."

There was a full ten years separating us, but he wasn't a child. "Do you remember anything from before you were with Mamou?"

A thoughtful look came over his face, but he finally shook his head. He offered me a spoonful of porridge. "It will get cold, Sean."

I took the spoonful he offered, and laid down the little jacket for him to put away. We had our breakfast, then I opened the small cupboard in the wall at the head of the bed and took out the lockbox to show him our savings, and Grandad's thing as well. There was a silver pocketwatch that didn't work, two cufflinks set with tiny emeralds, and a gold hatpin that had been my grandmother's.

Lija took from his pack the gold chain and amulet he'd been wearing when we first met, and added it to the treasure, along with a few coins, his last earnings. There was still enough coin to keep us going a while yet, but I would need to get back to working soon. I found Grandad's wedding ring slipped into a fold of the sheet, and placed it in the box as well. After I'd secured it back in it's place in the cupboard, Lija took my hand and held it in both of his. "Where would you most like to go, Sean?"

Honestly, I hadn't thought that far ahead. A part of my heart wanted to go home, but there was another part, that part Lija had wakened in me afresh. There was the whole world out there to see. "I don't know, Lija. Where would you like to go?"

It seemed he already knew just exactly what he wanted. "I would like to go to Saint Augustine in Florida. The sea there is warm and the sand is white." A man once told him about it, he said. "I want to see rosy spoon bills and sea cows."

The notion took my breath. "It's a long way, Lija."

Lija gave me a quirk of a smile. "But don't you want to be warm, Sean?"

In truth, what Lija wanted was what I wanted. I smiled at him back, and pressed a loving kiss to his lips. "We'll see."


	36. Together

On a cold, sunny day in mid-January, we moved on. We couldn't embark on any serious journeying until Coal was a bit older, but as soon as Lija declared him strong and able enough to trot at his mother's side for a way on the road, we left the pine wood to its fate. Picatel perched on the eave overhead, while Lija walked along beside with the colt, and we went at a leisurely pace. Mae was well, and happy to be on the road again. I wasn't fully recovered yet myself, but tried to hide that fact as much as I could, though Lija seemed to know when I'd pushed it as far as I should, and made me take it easy. Knowing it was the sensible thing, I let him.

Lija had strung the bells from his wide brimmed hat across the front of the wagon over the bench seat, and we jingled merrily as we went. We were noticed and watched when we reached the town. We probably made quite a sight. I'd worried the colt would panic and become a handful for Lija, unused to the sounds and smells of the city, but he was a bold one. Lija stayed close, while Mae calmly walked on unperturbed, and Coal did fine.

Lija led the way, as he knew the streets far better than I. We avoided the center of the city, and came to the market by a quieter way. We only meant to go as far as the riverbank south of the city, where the gipsies had camped. From there, we could come into the city by foot. But it was only smart to stock in provisions when we had the wagon to carry them.

We took Mae out of the traces so Coal could have a feed, and kept them in sight as we made our way around the market stalls. I would normally have tried to barter for some of what we needed, but couldn't then afford the time and vigor it would take, so I paid for everything in silver.

There was no rice to be had and Lija was forced to settle for cracked oats. There was no olive oil either, but Lija already knew that. He said it was hard to find in the new world. We did get a fresh supply of beans and nuts and dried fruit, flour and cornmeal, honey and butter, salt. We had a nearly full crate still of various fruits and vegetables preserved in jars, but Lija didn't care for them.

"If we were someplace warm, there would be fresh vegetables."

"But we aren't, Lija. Here's potatoes, and cabbage." Both wintered-over and neither looking better for it, but that was what there was. We got smoked sausages and dried cod to go with it, and salt pork, the kind of food I was used to.

The aromas from a tea shop lured us in out of the cold for a few minutes. There was a fine selection of teas and other dried herbs, and coffee. Lija asked me if I liked coffee. I did, but Grandad preferred tea, so that's what I drank. Lija said we should have coffee instead. I had no problem with that. It was less costly than tea. Lija picked out several herbs while we were at it, for medicinal needs as well as cooking, he said.

We made our way back to the wagon again. All available storage space was packed by then, but we made one more trip to procure candles and lamp oil, and soap. And we dropped into a book shop that was near, to look around and see what they had and didn't have, to find out what sorts of things were popular thereabouts.

Then we hitched up Mae and went on toward the lake road that skirted the city to the south. On the way, we made a quick stop to pick up a bale of hay and grain for Mae, and a load of firewood. Lija wanted a box of matches and, though he only hinted, I didn't hesitate to spend the extra coin. I usually went at it the old way, which cost nothing, but he'd been doing most of the fire starting, and I was glad to make it a little easier for him.

When we came to the lake, we stopped a short while on the rise above, to look at it in the late afternoon sun. "It looks like any sea," I said to Lija.

"But it's lake water. You can drink it." He thought it was an amazing sight and, looking at it through new eyes, I supposed it was. It was the dock works that took my eye though, and a barge that was coming in from up shore.

"Is that the sort of thing you worked on, Lija?" He said it was. It looked like a beast, and the men scurrying about it were a rough sort, I knew so without seeing them up close. "What did they have you doing?"

"Running mostly. Carrying messages."

That made me feel a little better about it. I'd had troubling thoughts of him shoveling coal to get by.

We went on again at last, by the lake road to the river that flowed into it, then followed the river inland. We passed a bustling lumberyard, and a huge grain mill, before coming to the beginning of farmland, and a stretch of riverbank where there was an open area scattered with old firepots. Lija said this must be where they'd camped. It seemed an odd way to put it, seeing as he'd been with them, hadn't he?

I guided Mae off the road there and we settled the wagon at the river's edge. The first order of business was setting up the shelter for Mae and Coal, and it went back together handily with Lija's help. Second, we had to haul out most of the firewood, stack it, and cover it over to keep it dry. Lija swept out the wagon after, while I went to the river to draw fresh water for us and for Mae. That the river wasn't iced over was a blessing. Apparently, it ran fast and deep there.

By the time I'd finished caring for Mae and went inside, Lija had a fire going in the hotbed, and water heating, and Picatel was draped across his lap having another nap. I took off my cap and coat, and sank down to the floor beside them. There was a table with built in benches, with a window for looking out, but it was warmer at the fire. I reached behind me to drag down a blanket from the bunk, to wrap around Lija's shoulders.

I'd have taken him someplace warm if I could, but for a couple of months at least, this was to be our home. It wasn't a bad thing, staying put for a time. We had all we needed, running water and wood to burn, and fresh bread and butter with our supper that evening.

We could keep each other warm. We could do that, for sure. I chuckled to myself. Lija gave me a sweet, sultry smile, as if he was reading my mind. We were going to be just fine.


	37. Cousins

We spent the nights, and often early mornings too, learning each other from tip to toe. I'd never found it a particularly easy thing dragging myself out of bed in the morning, but it nearly took a wedge and hammer to pry me out those days. Lija would just as soon have hunkered in and cuddled half the morning, which didn't help.

Not to say we didn't accomplish anything that first couple of weeks on the riverbank. I went through all the books I had, with Lija's eager help, and took stock of what was saleable and what was needed. I found out in the process that Lija had never learned to read or write at all, not even Romanian, which was his native language. So we began with lessons, and it wasn't long before I wondered why he hadn't found anyone to teach him before. He was a good student and wanted to learn.

We also made a major project of laundering all of our clothes and towels and bedding, while we had the river running closeby, and we went through Grandad's things. I couldn't fit into them myself, but we kept out a couple of thick, warm sweaters that Lija could wear. The rest, we packed up and stored away, for the time being.

As for cooking, I mostly let Lija take over that job. Though he never complained, I knew he didn't care for my bland and uninspired fare, and I was getting more and more used to his. He broke down and started using the jarred tomatoes we had, added herbs and spices and cooked them with sausage and beans. He decided we needed more jarred tomatoes, so I put it on my list.

And we cut each other's hair. Lija was good with a scissors and did a grand job with mine. I only trimmed his a little. I liked it long, tied back in a tail or wisping around his face, or brushing my bare chest when he was on top of me in bed. We'd spent a fair lot of time in bed during those first two weeks. I figured we were both due some ease and pleasure. But eventually, I had to be practical.

We walked into town the next morning, and stopped at a wagoner's yard first thing, to see about the major purchase I'd been planning. We looked at handcarts, but I wanted something a bit larger and covered, to eventually pull behind the wagon as well as to carry goods to and from the city. We tried several different places, but the only thing that came close to serving my needs cost more than I wanted to spend, even without shelves for books. I was on the verge of just hiring a handcart for the time being, but Lija turned his charm on the seller and managed to coerce a deal I couldn't say no to. The man agreed to add shelves at no further cost, and to throw a roll of good canvas into the bargain. Sold. Being a slow season for cart sales, he said I could pick it up in two days time. I walked away from there feeling like I'd won the grand prize, Lija.

We went on uptown, where it pleased me immensely to buy him a new suit of clothes. Something befitting a merchant, but not too staid. For myself, I liked him in his old gipsy garb, but that wasn't a fashion to be found in the shops of Erie. The few clothes he'd brought with him, he'd packed away when he started working on the barges, and I was of a mind to think they should be saved for special. Lija laughed at me when I told him so in a hushed tone. Then he made faces at his reflection in the clothes we'd picked out, turning this way and that, and asked me if he looked smart in them. Ha. I told him if he looked any smarter, I'd feel like a dunce. He smiled then and said he liked them.

Two days later, we collected our new cart, and filled the shelves with books. Thus far, Mae and Coal had been all right alone for the few hours now and then that we spent in the city, but I didn't like the idea of leaving them all day. At the very least, they were valuable animals and thieves could easily make off with them. For that matter, there was the wagon as well. Either would be a painful loss. Both would be devastating.

Lija's solution was to strike up an acquaintance with the family working the farm across the road. The farmer was none too friendly at first, but warmed to us when he learned I was only a book merchant from the east. His wife liked books, and their children, six of them ranging in age from seven to fifteen, all jumped at an offer to come over and see the colt. Their father came along and we talked for a while, about horses and horse thieves, among other things. He seemed an honest man, and I was a fairly good judge of that sort of thing. The kids said they'd watch and make sure no one came snooping around when we weren't there. Problem solved.

It snowed that night and left a fresh blanket of white over the land. We were up early the next morning, hard as it was climbing out of bed before dawn. I'd gotten soft, it seemed, and I badly needed to get back to working. I dressed in my next to best suit, and Lija put on his new clothes, and with Picatel along for the ride, we took our loaded cart into the city to do some business.

It was well above freezing and a good many folks were out. A throng of boys were sledding down the hill above the mill. Picatel made like he wanted to go and see what they were up to, and Lija firmly told him no. "Picatel, astupa." That was what the animal responded to. Otherwise, he seemed to understand English perfectly well. He did when Lija spoke to him, anyway. Picatel loved Lija. Myself, he merely tolerated.

We parked outside the library, once I'd found it, and left the cart closed down and locked with Picatel on guard, while we went inside. I thought it the sensible place to start out in a new town. I asked to see the director of procurement, and we were shown into a small office that was tidily stashed with books and papers in every crook and crevice. A man sat at a small desk, looking up at us over stacks of neatly categorized titles, from high literature to cooking books. Lija stood back looking smart, in so many ways, while I did the talking.

I introduced us as traveling book traders, and acquired his name in return, William Pratt. I sized up the man, and addressed him as William, in a respectful way. I said we'd come from Boston and possessed a few volumes he might be interested in. I still had most of my collection of old masters, as well a number of new scientific texts. Their library wasn't a large one, but it was clearly growing.

William Pratt invited us to have a seat, interested. I listed for him what we had available, told him they were all in good condition, many excellent, and that I was looking to buy or trade if he needed to unload anything I could use. There was much shuffling of books from there to here and here to there. Choices were made, and a fair deal arrived at. We added to our inventory, and replenished a little the store of silver we'd been spending. And made a friend. A good morning's work.

After indulging Lija's desire to look at the library's small collection of nature works. we went back out to the wagon, where he exclaimed in delight at how clever I was, and made me blush. "It's called the gift of gab, Lija." I laughed. "Most Irish are born with it, they say." He grinned at me unabashedly, and I wanted to kiss him. Instead, I took him into a sweet shop I'd noticed him eyeing, and spent a little of our morning's earnings.

Lija looked over the wares and finally settled on sugared caramels. We bought a small paper bag full, and were leaving the shop when a face in the crowd caught my eye, away on the far side of the street, a man in a hooded cloak who immediately turned and disappeared. Lija hadn't seen anything, and I didn't know if I should say or not, but I was pretty damned sure it was Terkari. As it was, I couldn't be one hundred percent certain, so I said nothing. But I kept all my senses on alert after that.

There was little point in opening the cart for business there on the street. No one wanted to linger over books in cold weather. We'd talked about it and decided to try going door to door through the residential neighborhoods. The main avenue off the central park was lined with the fine fancy homes of Erie's wealthy. I hadn't thought to begin at the top like that, but why not? With Lija there beside me, I was full of confidence.

So we gave it a try, pushing the cart down a back alleyway to come at the service door of the first home on the lane. Lija tucked Picatel into the nest we'd made for him in the cart, out of sight, and told him to be good. I rang the bell, and put on my cheeriest countenance for the young woman who answered, a kitchen maid by her dress. She went to bring someone with more authority to hear what my business was. I got as far as the butler before being told the house had no need of my services.

Much the same happened at the next house, but at the third we were invited to step inside, and were shown to a sitting room there in the servants quarters. A prim and modestly dressed woman came, the housekeeper. She said that Mrs. Barry, the lady of the house, was an avid reader and would see us, as long as our merchandise was of a quality nature, which she, the housekeeper, would vouch.

I inquired as to Mrs. Barry's taste in reading. The housekeeper, Miss Collins, said she was currently looking for poetry, English or Italian, though she might be interested in French as well. A customer who knew what she wanted, and one I could accommodate, hopefully. I went out to the cart and picked a good selection to take in, with Lija's help. Miss Collins looked at the titles I'd chosen, and the condition of the books, and pronounced them acceptable.

The house was splendid, and polished to a gleam, with velvet drapes at the windows of the parlor we were brought to. Mrs. Barry was a surprise, younger than I'd expected, and casual in her dress and manner. She promptly asked us, both of us, what our feelings were on the movement to bring votes to women. I thought it was only fair, and could say so without reservation, but Lija beat me to it.

"I have never understood why women are seen as less by men."

All I could do was echo that sentiment. "Indeed."

Mrs. Barry gave Lija a searching look. "What an interesting accent you have."

Lija said he was from Romania, and that women weren't treated fairly in any of the places he'd been.

She said, "It's a man's world. But that will change."

A maid brought coffee and fruitcake on a tray, while Mrs. Barry looked at the books we'd brought, between querying Lija on the state of affairs in Europe when he left there. I sat back and mostly just listened, and the books sold themselves. A couple of them, she already had, but she took several and was clearly pleased to have them. She asked us to return if we came by more of such.

It was late afternoon by the time we left there, and we decided to call it a day. Picatel resumed his perch on top of the cart for the trip back out to camp, then leapt down and raced off into the wood when we neared, going to hunt. Lotte Kimble, eldest of the farm kids, was at the end of their lane with the two youngest, both boys. We greeted her with smiles and waves, and she announced that we were invited to supper if we'd like to come.

I think we would have both preferred the evening alone together, but Lija said we would be happy to come, and that was that. She told us what time, then we went on to the wagon to take care of Mae and Coal, Lija helping me maneuver the cart over the frozen ruts in the ground. Mae seemed a little put out with me for leaving her behind yet again, but they'd fared fine by themselves all day. We gave them some attention, refilled Mae's water bucket and grain bin, then went inside to get cleaned up.

I picked out a couple of books to take for Mrs. Kimble, though it was risky, not knowing what sort of books she liked. Lija asked me if I minded going. I took him in my arms and hugged him, and told him I didn't, as long as we didn't stay too late. It was smart to cultivate good will with the neighbors, and Lija did so with perfect ease.

Walking up their lane, we were met by the older boys, who might have been twins, ten or twelve. Lija asked if we could see their animals, since we were early enough, and they showed us around a bit, past the fenced chicken coop, where Lija had to stop and make chicken noises at the occupants, then into the barn.

Harmon Kimble was there, pitching a last forkful of hay into one of the stalls. They had a few goats, a small herd of milk cows, and a pair of pied plow horses named Butter and Knob. Lija rubbed their noses and said they all looked well and happy. Harmon asked Lija if he was versed in the care of livestock, and Lija said he knew a lot about animals of all kinds. The farmer said he'd had trouble with his calves last spring that no one could figure, and he and Lija talked about it all evening, off and on.

Gathered around a long wooden table with all the family, we had a good supper of hearty Dutch fare; thin sliced ham with sweet potatoes and sour cabbage, buttered beets and turnips, lima beans and corn pudding. I didn't like to think they'd gone all out for us, but if they dined like that every day, they were doing very well.

The farmer, his wife, and their six children mostly filled the benches, then there was Harmon's mother and two brothers as well. When all the bowls were empty and the plates cleared, Mrs. Kimble the elder brought a mince pie to the table with a pitcher of fresh cream, and after we'd devoured that, Lija got out his bag of caramels and passed them around.

I was glad I'd brought two books. I gave one to each of the ladies, saying I hoped it was something they'd enjoy. They thanked me, seeming pleased, then they took the children off to bed, with much commotion, and left the table to the menfolk. Lija was still pondering the trouble with Harmon's calves. They'd apparently gone down a week or so after being turned out to pasture with their mothers. Lija asked if there were any plants growing in the pastures that hadn't been seen before.

Brother Jurgen said there was, in fact, but the cows had been eating it to no ill effect, and the calves weren't grazing. Lija had them explain to him what the weed looked like and said he would try to find out what it was. It seemed to me he had an idea, but didn't want to say until he was sure.

We didn't stay late. Early to bed and early to rise was the farmers' creed. As we were leaving, Mrs. Kimble brought a bottle of fresh milk and half a dozen eggs for us to take, and we thanked them all kindly for their hospitality. We walked back to the wagon in moonlight, talking about flapjacks for breakfast.

I dove into bed to get the sheets warm while Lija opened his pack and took out two books before climbing in with me. One was my copy of Leaves of Grass, gifted to him way back in Worcester. He laid it reverently in the nook at the head of the bunk with the tiger perched atop, and said we would read it together when he learned.

The other book was more a sheaf of loose papers in a small leather satchel, with various leaves pressed between them, some looking almost fresh, others old and crumbling. Lija settled down into the crook of my arm and took out the papers to carefully look through, drawings of trees and animals for the most part. He pulled one out and lay it on top, and I took down the lamp from its hook to hold closer for him. The paper was covered with beautiful little drawings of plants, inked and water colored, and a symbol was drawn large in one corner that clearly meant danger, in any language.

Lija touched his finger to one that could have been what the farmers described. "Mamou told me about this, but I have never seen it in this country, I don't think." He stared at it intently. "It isn't exactly the same, but it sounds like what Mamou told me she saw, spring lambs that died after the ewes ate this and gave them tainted milk." He kept that paper out and put the rest away. "I'm not certain, but I will tell them what I think."

"It'll likely be a big job for them, getting rid of the stuff, if that's what it is, but I'm sure they'll be glad of something to try." I set aside the satchel and paper for him, and hung the lamp back on its hook, then I took him in my arms and nuzzle kissed his ear. "I want you to teach me Romanian, Lija."

He gave me a curious look. "Why, Sean?"

I told him, "I want to learn languages, and it seems to me yours is the one I should start with." If it came to me needing to deal with Terkari, it might help if I knew what he was shouting at me.

Lija agreed easily enough, but we didn't get to it just then. He slithered his soft bare body against mine and lured me into making love. Not a hard thing to do. I loved Lija with everything I had, as often as possible. After coming in through the vented trap door above, Picatel waited until we were finished, then joined us with his wet feet and his cold nose. We settled snug and warm in each other's arms at last, and slept.

I showed Lija how to make flapjacks the next morning, sitting on the wagon floor at our campfire. He didn't seem much impressed until I'd lathered them with butter and honey, then he thought they were gustos.

"That means delicious in Romanian."

I repeated it. "Gustos." He corrected my less than perfect pronunciation, and gave me the words for other common things around us while we cleaned up and finished our coffee. Then he quizzed me on them as we made our way into the city, and gave me a few more. I had a good memory for words, and Lija was as good at teaching as he was at learning. We made a great pair, we did.

We returned to the alley backing the avenue of fine homes, where we'd started the day before, and began again at the next house after Mrs. Barry's. We got in the door at five of the dozen houses we tried, and sold books at three. Most were bought by the affluent folks upstairs, but we found book lovers among the serving staff as well. At the end of the day, we'd done well, and I was worn out.

Pushing a cart was hard work under the best conditions, and it was going to take some getting used to. Lija tried to help out, but he didn't have the muscle to handle it on his own, so there wasn't much he could do, more than helping to keep it steady. Back at camp, he insisted on doing the lifting and carrying, bringing water from the river and taking care of Mae, while I went into the wagon to get a fire going.

Picatel darted in ahead of me and was underfoot until I settled at the hotbed, then got in my lap and tried to burrow up under the sweater I'd just pulled on. Meaning to get warmed up before he went out for his hunt, I guessed. The temperature was dropping, a cold night ahead.

Lija came in to change into casual clothes, and put on two sweaters over. "I will talk to Harmon and his brothers before they go to supper." He picked up the paper he'd kept out, his drawings of poisonous plants, and stepped for the door. Picatel moved to go with him, but Lija told him to stay and keep me company. "You can make supper for us, Sean." He dropped to his knees for a hug and kiss, said he wouldn't be very long, and went.

I started supper cooking, just bacon and potatoes, though I tried to make it more exciting for Lija, using some of his spices. We had a few eggs still. I decided to scramble them up to go beside. And had water heating for coffee, though Lija made it far better than I did.

Picatel curled up on my lap and watched it all, keeping me company. He was a warm spot that I wasn't ungrateful for, and I stroked him and told him he was a good beast, sometimes. For a change, he didn't bare his teeth at me for touching him, lithely arched against my hand instead, and rolled over onto his back to sleep. He was still sleeping like that when Lija returned, and Lija all but had tears in his eyes, he was so pleased.

"He would not sleep belly up so near if he didn't trust you, Sean. I knew he would, sooner or later."

If that was so, I had to be glad of it. The animal woke at Lija's first word, of course, and switched over to his lap after he was settled. I asked Lija how it had gone, telling Harmon Kimble his pasture was like to become deadly in the spring. He said they weren't happy but they believed him, and they would talk to their neighbor farmers about it.

"They understand that it doesn't belong here and needs to be pulled out, all of it. They say that all manner of wanderers stop here to camp, and have for many years. I think someone must have brought seeds unknowing from someplace else, maybe all the way from the old country."

"I'd say it's a good thing for the Kimbles that you happened by, Lija." He said he hoped he wasn't mistaken, but he didn't think so.

We had our supper and Lija pronounced it gustos. He shared his eggs with Picatel, who seemed unwilling to go out in the cold that night. A wind came up that buffeted the wagon and rattled the shutters. After we'd cleaned up, Lija took out his English primer and practiced reading for a while, but we tucked into bed early, the three of us.

The next day was one of those clear, sunny ones that look so inviting until you step out into them. We'd dropped into a hard freeze that went on for more than a week. It made working that much more of a challenge, but we bundled up in everything warm we had, and did our best.

We worked the upper class residential neighborhood thoroughly, and had increasing success as the days passed, as the word apparently went around that we were fair traders with good merchandise. We bought as well as sold, to keep our inventory up, and often picked up books at one house only to sell them down the street in the same day. And Lija was helping out more and more all the time, talking with customers. He was a natural at making people feel comfortable.

The cold spell broke finally, much to everyone's relief, and I saw Terkari again. This time, I knew for certain it was he, but still I held my tongue. It almost seemed as if he wanted me to see him, and didn't want Lija to, and I didn't want to upset Lija if there was no need. I suppose I also feared a little that Terkari could take Lija away from me. I didn't know what had happened between them, only that Terkari had somehow tricked him. That was what Lija had said.

I should have known though that it couldn't go on like that. We were sitting with the cart having lunch a few days later when Terkari had the gall to show himself to me from no more than fifty yards away, barely concealed. Lija caught me glaring, no doubt. He turned and saw Terkari before the man could disappear, and turned ghost white. I laid a hand on his shoulder, couldn't do more there in public view. "It's all right, Lija. I won't let him bother you."

Lija gave me an incredulous look. "You knew?"

"I saw him, a couple of times. It doesn't matter, Lija. He can't hurt us."

Lija snatched up Picatel and hugged him tight, agitated, angry. "He did hurt me, Sean. He poisoned me to keep me from staying with you. I was sick for a long time and Mamou thought I would die."

My heart hammered in my chest. "Why didn't you tell me, Lija?!"

He dropped his eyes and buried his face in Picatel's fur. "I didn't want to anger you when you were so sick. I knew you would want to hurt Terkari."

I did want to hurt Terkari, badly.

Picatel hissed, at me, wriggling, and Lija released his hold a bit, taking a deep breath. "I left when I was able to, to come back to you, Sean. Javert forbade Terkari to ever look at me again, because of what he did. But I knew he wouldn't stop."

I called it a day and we went home early. Lija wanted to pack up and leave, but he knew as well as I did, better, that Terkari would likely just follow. He hadn't confronted us, as he easily could have, seemed only to be watching. We could confront him, I said, but Lija wanted no part of that, and didn't want me to either. For the time being, there seemed nothing we could do but watch and wait.

We changed out of our good clothes, and took Mae for a long walk all around the clearing, with Coal bounding around us in the coat Lija had made him, enjoying the milder weather. The two older Kimble lads, Max and Karel, came to visit. Lija pretended there was nothing weighing on his mind and made them welcome, even showed them some of the tricks Picatel could do, and told them about the circus he used to travel with. That night in bed though, he held to me tighter even than usual, and sighed himself to sleep.

We saw more of Terkari after that, always at a distance, and Lija grew more and more troubled, until I resolved that something had to be done. I'd worked hard at it and learned what I could of Lija's language. I had a lot more to learn still, but hoped what I knew would be enough. I only needed to find a way around Lija to go into the city alone and look for the man.

It was another week at least before chance provided me a way, and I wasn't exactly glad of it. Lija took a wrong step crossing the rutted clearing from the road one evening, and turned his ankle. Thankfully, it wasn't permanently damaging, but he couldn't walk into town on it. He wanted me to take a few days off from working, didn't want me to have to go by myself, but I convinced him I would be fine, and he'd earned a rest. The last thing he said to me as I left that morning was to stay away from Terkari.

The first thing I did when I reached the center of the city was to find a good place to park the cart, and there I left it. Finding Terkari was easy. He'd just been waiting to catch me alone, it appeared. He stepped out right in front of me as I passed through an alley from one street to the next. I stood my tallest and looked him square in the eye, and he scowled at me back. I didn't mean for it to come to blows if there was any way else, but I wouldn't shirk from what had to be done.

I said in Romanian, as best I could, what I'd been practicing in my head to say, that I wouldn't have him troubling Lija any longer, and I put the strength of conviction in the way I said it. He clenched his fists, and all of a sudden there was Cam and one of the other cousins stepping out of the shadows at his back. It looked like I was about to get trounced then, but I stood my ground.

Cam sharply spoke, Terkari's name, and Terkari sucked in a breath and spoke to me in English, the scoundrel. "You treat him right or I will know, and I will come for you."

I suppose I just stood there staring. Cam stepped forward and Terkari turned away and stood with his arms crossed and his chin up, not exactly cowed. Cam spoke English too, almost as well as Lija did.

"Lija will be troubled no more by Terkari. We come to take him back with us."

With my whole body tensed for the expected fight, I had a hard time dropping my guard even then. But I thanked him, in Romanian, and he smiled.

"Lija is well?"

I said he was, but for a sprained ankle.

"May we see him for a short while, before we go?"

I couldn't help balking at that. "Lija doesn't want to see him." Terkari's shoulders sagged a tiny bit, and he walked away.

Cam shook his head. "Lija will not have to see Terkari again. But we, Gilly and myself, would like to wish him well, and give him a message from Mamou."

That, I couldn't deny them, or Lija. Cam said they would come later, clearly knowing where we were camped, then they took Terkari and went. I made my way back to the cart and went home, no work done that day.

Lija was out, limping around the open space with Mae on a lead, after I'd asked him to please stay off his ankle. He was immediately suspicious of my returning so early. I sat him down on the wagon step and told him everything that had happened. He huddled with his hand clasped over his mouth, worried for me, until learning that Cam and Gilly had come also. He seemed not to believe, still, that Terkari would really go back with them. But he was happy and excited at the prospect of seeing them.

I took over walking Mae around and looking after Coal, so Lija could go inside and get started fixing supper for company. In fact, I wanted to see them coming when they did, and make sure Terkari wasn't with them. It turned out he was, but he stayed with their packed horses out by the road, well deserved penance, to my mind.

I settled Mae and Coal back in their shelter, and met Cam and Gilly to show them in. Lija greeted them with hugs, and disappointment when Cam said they needed to be on the road and couldn't stay long. I would have gone back out to give them privacy, but Lija took my hand to hold, and we all sat on the floor around the fire.

They spoke Romanian for the most part, but I understood enough of it to get the gist. Terkari was sorry, they said, and believed, and only wanted to know that Lija was all right. His attitude toward me hadn't seemed contrite in the least, but I guessed I could understand that. Lija got his message from Mamou, and gave them one to give her in return, that he was very happy and everything was all right now.

They were going west, Cam said, and Javert would not wait for them, so they had some hard riding ahead and had to get started. We went out with them finally and stood at the wagon together to see them off. Terkari looked our way a few times, but Lija wrapped an arm around my waist and refused to meet his eyes. If Terkari didn't get that message, he was an imbecile. I hoped never to see his face again.

We had a fine supper, with plenty left over for our next meal. Lija talked of going to Florida again, of going south. I did want what he wanted, but my heart hesitated. It was said the war still went on in the south, in many ways. After the loss of 600,000 men and a good president, hard feelings were felt on both sides, naturally. But I knew, eventually, I would take Lija on his quest to see rosy spoon bills. I asked him if he thought Coal was ready, and he gave me a soft smile.

"Soon."


	38. Quest

Early in March, Lija said it was time, so we packed up and moved on again. We’d hunted down maps of the lands we’d be traveling through, and worked out a route, of sorts. It was due south to begin with, all the way to the pass we meant to take through the Appalachian mountains into North Carolina. The same mountains I’d crossed getting to Erie. Once east of them again, we’d head for Savannah, then down the coast. On the maps, it looked simple and straightforward, and we at least wouldn’t have winter to contend with. It would be spring before we reached the mountains.

We didn’t intend to be in any hurry about it, and couldn’t anyway. We’d spend much of the time camped, and would stop often while on the road, for the colt’s welfare. He was strong and growing like a weed, a handsome lad. We hitched up Mae and took the wagon into the city to have her newly shod, and to get Coal his first halter. He didn’t much like it and Lija felt bad for him, but he got used to it quickly enough. He was straying from Mae’s side more and more, and he had a streak of willfulness. Lija could usually control him with a quiet word or two, but not always. We had to be able to get our hands on him and hold him, if need be, for his own sake.

We stocked up on provisions, and managed to pack enough into the new cart we were pulling to leave us plenty of breathing room in the wagon. On the way out of town at last, we stopped at the Kimble farm. I’d learned what the ladies liked to read and gifted them with books, including several for the kids. We wished them good luck with their calves come spring, and they wished us a good journey.

We crossed the river and set out on the road going south. Lija walked along with Coal for a while to be sure he’d be all right, then climbed up and settled onto the padded seat beside me with a happy sigh. Picatel came and went. He rode with us for a time, curled on Lija’s lap, then scampered up onto the roof and apparently let himself inside through the trap door. It was a breezy day, and Picatel didn’t care for the wind. But it was mild and sunny, and it felt great to me. We were on our way.

We were two weeks just getting as far Pittsburgh, but we made good use of the time spent in small towns along the way, plying our trade and making friends. Lija was like a candle flame, drawing all kinds of folk, everywhere we went. I was almost jealous at times of having to share him. But on the road he was all mine, and we spent those hours side by side, talking or reading to each other. Lija played his fiddle now and again, and goaded me into singing when he could. Sometimes, we’d just ride along in quiet contentment. When the weather was bad, we sheltered Mae and the colt, and camped in comfort. When it was good, we rolled onward.

At Pittsburgh, we stayed long enough to see the sights, though it was a smoky and noisome city, and dingier than most, with a heavy smell of coal dust in the air. Pittsburgh was famed for its industry, its iron and brass foundries and its massive glassworks. And the sprawling rail yard, where freight trains came and went constantly, carrying out goods, and no doubt bringing in the luxuries a wealthy city could indulge.

We watched the trains, and marveled at their greatness. Progress was a good thing. But it came with a hard price, to my mind. The forest had been laid bare for miles around, and coal mining despoiled the landscape. Not that Pittsburgh had no beauty. They had some handsome architecture and beautiful old houses, away from the factories, where it was cleaner and less gray.

The city had been built in a place where two big rivers converged to form an even bigger one, and they had wonderful bridges, many of them. It was said there was a large Irish population in Pittsburgh, and not so much confined to communities as scattered throughout the city. Many of the city’s politicians were Irishmen, I’d heard. And there were a great number of Germans as well. There was much manufacturing and commerce. Pittsburgh looked forward. Lija and I looked forward to a proper hot bath in a tub with running water, and we splurged by going to one of the nicer inns to get it. Afterward, we had a good meal in their fancy dining room before going back to the wagon to sleep.

We walked around and looked at the shops while we were in Pittsburgh, and stopped into a German eating place for our lunch, because Lija wanted to try their sauerkraut and pickled meats. I can’t say I’ll ever be partial to the cuisine, though the mashed potatoes were good. But it was hearty fare, and it kept me filled and warm for the rest of the day. The city had a good public library. I was able to work a deal with the curator, and acquired a number of books by important authors, including Poe. I wasn’t greatly enthralled with the latter’s work, myself, but it was popular and in demand.

We checked on Mae and Coal, then spent a couple of hours at a proper Irish pub, enjoying the hearth and a little fellowship with the locals. I had a couple of beers, and Lija had maybe half of one, surely not enough to feel, but he wasn’t quite his usual graceful self when we rose to leave. It was snowing outside, a steady falling of soft white flakes in the darkness. We’d left the wagon nearby, with the horses already settled for the night, and Picatel was no where to be seen, so we just crawled into bed and called it good.

Lija snuggled into my arms shivering and said he wanted to hear some Poe. I was ready for sleep myself, with maybe a quick roll in the sheets first, to warm them. But Lija wanted to hear some Poe, so I picked out a book and read him a short piece. The Oval Portrait, it was called. I’d never read it, and it turned out to be one of the author’s more disturbing than ghastly ones, with the notion of a portrait being inhabited by a departed spirit. Lija liked it, wouldn’t you know, thought it was clever and well worded, as it was. He said he would like to hear all of Poe’s stories and poems, and I told him I’d read him some of them. There were some I wouldn’t ever read again, things that haunted one’s dreams. Lija could read those himself, when he was sufficiently able to do so, if he really wanted to.

We left Pittsburgh the next morning, and eventually crossed into the brand new state of West Virginia on the twenty-sixth day out of Erie. The land grew more mountainous, forested less with pines and cedars and more with broadleaved trees, oaks and maples and beeches, bare from winter but just beginning to show a hint of spring green.

We watched the last of the snow melt away between Morgantown and Charleston, and saw a few mild, sunshiny days before the rains began. Coal kicked up his heels at the former, but he didn’t care for thunder, or being wet. We spent more time camped, but still drove at least a few miles every day, planning to settle for a longer spell in Charleston, which we’d been told had a very good library.

Some three days out from Charleston, under a sky of blue drifting with soft white clouds, I was reading to Lija from a book of poetry when Picatel suddenly dove off the wagon from Lija’s lap and dashed for the wood west of the road. Lija pulled back hard on Mae’s rein to stop her, calling out in a commanding voice, “Picatel, astupa!”

Picatel had spotted some bird or small animal in distress. It wasn’t the first time. He wasn’t one to hunt in the day, but if opportunity arose he would take it. Lija always had to stop him and make sure there was nothing he could do to help whatever it was, then he’d be sad and quiet for the rest of the day, my dear, tender hearted Lija. It turned out this time to be a small owl that wasn’t too badly hurt. That was a relief. Picatel wasn’t happy about having his prize snatched away, but Lija told him no and he listened.

I pulled the wagon off the road and set to un-hitching Mae so Coal could have a feed. Lija came back with the bird wrapped in his coat, and said it was weak because it couldn’t hunt well, or he never would have caught it. It had a broken wing, something Lija was apparently practiced at dealing with. We gathered together what he’d need, then I sat on the wagon seat beside him and watched. He spoke to it in quiet pips and stroked its rumpled feathers as he worked, and it never bit or clawed him once, though it easily could have.

“What will we feed it, Lija?”

Lija made a face. “We’ll have to find small things for it, grasshoppers and big spiders, frogs and lizards.”

That didn’t sound very pleasant. It seemed Lija wasn’t keen on it either. But he would do what had to be done, I knew. He carefully folded the broken wing against the bird’s side, and I helped him bind it there with a strip of soft cloth. At Elijah’s instructing, I lined an empty crate with fallen leaves and twigs from the wood, and wedged in a good branch for perching, and we had ourselves an owl. Lija draped a sheet over the crate, and said we’d have to watch Picatel. No doubt.

For the next few days, close beside the wending river we’d been following since Sutton, we spent hours in various meadows along the way. We searched out whatever large insects could be found that early in the season, then had to figure a way to keep them, because Pip liked them living. It turned out that was what troubled Lija, who had no qualms whatsoever about handling them. He liked insects and squirmy things. I soon took over the feeding to spare him. It was easy enough, just dropping things into the crate. The owl was hale enough to ferret them out of the leaf litter and snatch them up.

Similarly to Pittsburgh, Charleston was built on a spur of land created by the joining of two rivers. It was mostly surrounded by water, but they had no bridges and relied on ferries to carry people and goods from the docks to the far bank, or to carry travelers from the bank to the docks. It wasn’t a city of Pittsburgh’s size, boasted only some three thousand residents, but it was busy and growing, especially since the war ended.

In Charleston, we saw our first real sign of the divide between North and South. West Virginia had been just western Virginia before the war, but those counties had voted to stay with the North when Virginia seceded, and formed their own state. It was said the vote was a narrow one though, and those who’d supported the South were lawfully disfranchised now the war was won. Folk were bitter on one side and triumphant on the other. We listened to a heated debate on the subject, and saw hints of unrest in the streets. Though folk in small towns to the north had shown us plenty of hospitality, in Charleston we didn’t feel so completely welcomed. I couldn’t help but think we might just have trouble farther south.

We camped east of the town, among a stand of stately sycamore trees on the bank of the Kanawha river. That was an Indian name if ever there was one. Because Lija was curious about it, we asked around and learned it was Iroquois There were no natives in the area any longer, but they’d left ancient mounds thereabouts. Lija wanted to see them, but they were apparently grown over into part of the landscape and not easy to find. And there was business to attend. Leisurely as our progress had been, we had a goal, and Lija was looking forward to seeing new lands over the mountains

We drove back into the town early next morning to park the wagon on the market square, and set out our shingle. It was a Saturday, mild and clear, and there was soon a good bustle of foot traffic. We’d staked Mae out of the way and Coal was keeping close to her, too many people, more in one place than we’d seen since Pittsburgh. We kept a good watch on them as we got down to work.

Though I was more than comfortable in my suit jacket, Lija still wore his heavy coat. He couldn’t seem to get warm enough. For his sake especially, I was looking forward to summer. Despite the difficulty of having his too long sleeves always in the way, Lija played his fiddle, and Picatel came down from the wagon-top to dance for the passersby. Folks began to stop. We soon had a crowd of children gathered, and Lija stopped playing to talk to them and show off Picatel. I spotted a number of mouths bulging with sweets and worried about sticky fingers, but the kids weren’t very interested in books. Thankfully, many of their parents were.

Back on the riverbank in the evening, settled into bed with a lighted lamp overhead, I was reading to Lija a poem from Leaves of Grass, Spontaneous Me. It was a favorite of his. “The hairy wild bee that murmurs and hankers up and down, that gripes the full-grown lady flower, curves upon her with amorous firm legs, takes his will of her and holds himself tremulous and tight till he is satisfied.” Lija sat leaned into the crook of my arm with a rosy flush on his face, following the words as I read. “The boy’s longings, the glow and pressure as he confides to me what he was dreaming. The dead leaf whirling its spiral whirl, and falling still and content to the ground. The young man wakes, deep at night, the hot hand seeking to repress what would master him. The mystic amorous night, the strange half-welcome pangs, visions, sweats. The pulse pounding through palms and trembling encircling fingers. The young man all colored, red, ashamed, angry.”

Lija shifted his hip against mine and absently rubbed his feet together under the covers. “I still cannot believe they can say such things in books.”

As I’d told him before, this particular poem had been left out of earlier editions. I’d replaced my original copy with the newly published one just to get it. “Shall I finish it?” Lija pursed his lips and nodded. I smiled to myself and cuddled him close. “The souse upon me of my lover the sea, as I lie willing and naked,”

Pip abruptly let out a mournful, tremulous wail, the first serious sound he’d made. It stood the hair up on the nape of my neck and had my heart racing. Lija was pleased, “He’s feeling better,” and seemed to completely forget that we’d been about to slip under the covers and make love. The owl flapped his free wing and made a ruckus until we uncovered the crate and gave him more food. There were only a few grasshoppers left from our last hunt. Lija said we’d have to take time soon to catch a fresh supply. “And we should find a better way to cover the crate, now he’s getting stronger. He could get out and hurt himself.”

Or find himself in Picatel’s jaws. Lija didn’t actually know if Pip was a boy or a girl, so assigned him a gender. Lija did know his species. Pip was a screech owl, shades of gray and white with round yellow eyes, and he had tufts of short feathers that resembled horns when he raised them. We never did hear him screech, thankfully, but he sure could make a noise when he wanted to. And he did seem to be getting back his vigor.

We invested in a square of fine fencing mesh next day to cover the crate, and weighted it down. When the work day was done, we scoured a nearby pasture for hoppers and creepers. We’d made a couple of pole nets from an empty flour sack and two long, stout sticks. It made the job go a lot faster. And a pair of lads with fishing poles on their shoulders saw us from the road, and came to help out. We soon had more insects than we easily had room for. I had to empty another crate and stuff it with pulled weeds to temporarily house them.

We visited the library on Monday morning, made some good deals, and spent a little time among the shelves. Lija managed to find a book about Florida, which seemed to be a great swamp and not much else. He showed me drawings and descriptions of some of the animals. There was a colored drawing of his rosy spoonbills, and they were indeed amazing to look at. The book called them Roseate Spoonbills though. I told Lija so, but he said he liked rosy better. There were also drawings of alligators. The book said they were everywhere, large, and dangerous. Of course, Lija found them fascinating.

While we were there perusing the stacks, I took down a book on Austrian aristocracy and tried to interest Lija in looking at it, but he found a volume dealing with Spanish culture, with pictures, so I put mine back barely opened. Lija said they’d spent many years in Spain, and Barcelona was his favorite city. I said maybe we’d go there someday, and he smiled wistfully. “Maybe.”

The morning passed quickly, and we had to get back to the wagon, which we’d left under the watchful eye of a kindly woman selling pastries in the market. We bought cream cakes from her in thanks, and had them with our lunch, after looking into the wagon to be sure all was well. The owl sat on his perch with his head slightly cocked, asleep, as usual during the day. I asked Lija how long it would take for that wing to heal, and he said it would be several weeks. If we went on, we’d likely be over the mountains by then. I wondered aloud if it would be right for us to take Pip from his natural home. “You mean to set him free, don’t you, Lija?”

Lija wasn’t overly concerned. “It doesn’t matter, Sean, his kind are all over. He’ll leave when he’s ready, when he finds a place that’s right.” I was fine with that. In spite of the bug catching and night-time disturbances, I was getting attached to the little fellow, who always gave me a curious and thoughtful look when I delivered his meals.

Though there were fewer customers on a weekday, we spent a last afternoon doing what business we could. Lija put on a show for the folks who stopped, thickening his accent and telling stores of the old country. Pretending. I asked him in a quiet moment who he was supposed to be, as I never could be sure, and he said in a haughty tone that he was an Austrian prince in exile. I told him he’d make a fine actor, and he daintily crossed his arms and pointed his chin at me.

“I could be an Austrian prince. You think so, Sean. You think Mamou stole me when I was a baby. So I could be anyone.”

It was true, but I didn’t think that was the point he was trying to make. Still, I made the offer. “Maybe we could write some letters, Lija, make some inquiries.”

Lija sat down beside me with a sigh, and gave me a sidelong look. “How would you do that?”

“Well, we could return address them for Savannah, and check at the postal office for replies when we get there.”

Lija thought about it, his expression clouded. “No, Sean.”

I leaned against him and bumped his shoulder a little. “Don’t you wish you knew who your parents were?”

He shook his head. “Mamou told me once that my mother and father both died when I was very young. Mamou never told me all she knew, I know, but she wouldn’t lie to me.”

I gently and discreetly rubbed his back. “I never believed she would, Lija. I don’t mean for you to think I don’t care for Mamou and all she did for you. I just thought you might wonder now and then, and want to know where you came from.” He said he would rather not, so I let it drop.

We packed up and left Charleston at dawn the next day, following the southeast road. We couldn’t have asked for more splendid scenery, but it was a lot of downhill, and a lot of up. We took our time, for Mae’s sake, but she was strong and well, and had no trouble with the climbs. Lija said she was happy, and he would know. Sitting there beside him, watching Coal trotting along at her side was a special pleasure, though it made me think wistfully of Grandad.

The weather steadily improved. We had rain, and plenty of it, but we had beautiful sunny days as well. It went from cold and clammy to warm and damp, but Lija still went about wrapped in his coat, or wrapped around me, both whenever possible. He’d found the book of old tales Grandad had brought over the sea with us all those years ago, and he spent hours reading it aloud, tucked against my side under my arm as we rolled along.

“There's a great feast in the house of the Banshee, on the top of... ”

I looked to see what had him stumped. No surprise. “Croagh Patric. It’s a hill.”

“On the top of Croagh Patric, tonight,’ says the Púca, ‘and I'm for bringing you there to play music, and take my word, you'll get the price of your trouble."

I sat there smiling, no doubt, from the pure pleasure of listening to him. He’d learned to read quickly and well, and he read with such endearing enthusiasm. It was a long story, filled with magic and old women dancing, and a white gander, but at last he came to the end.

“…and from that day till the day of his death, there was never a piper in the county Galway was as good as he was.”

I had to laugh. “Is that an Irish brogue you’re sporting?”

Lija smiled back at me. “It’s a grand way of talking. I love to hear you talk.”

I’d thought my accent mostly gone, after growing up in America, but I suppose Grandad had kept it alive in me.

Lija closed the book. “Did you ever see a puca, Sean?”

I wrapped my arm tighter around him to hold him close against me. “No, Lija. Do you think they’re real?”

“They could be. I have seen creatures of shadow, in Belgium, and in Portugal.”

We heard the sounds of another wagon approaching from beyond the next bend. I took my arm from around Lija, and he sighed and moved away a little, taking up his fiddle to play. No, it wasn’t fair we couldn’t be ourselves to anyone but each other in private. I knew Lija would have proudly put his arms around me in the middle of a crowded public square, with little provocation. He almost had, quite a few times. But I didn’t have his courage in such matters.

Soon, we’d be higher into the mountains, where it was mostly uninhabited. We’d have less worry about someone seeing us in love, and we could breathe free and easy for a while.


	39. Air

We were driving through the high lands by early May, heading as much south and east as we could, to come into North Carolina on the other side. What awaited us was a big question mark, but we’d face it when we got there. For the time being, it felt as if we had the mountains to ourselves. We stopped to admire a particularly breathtaking view one breezy afternoon, and spotted a perfect place to camp. There was a bluff that spouted a waterfall, and we could just glimpse a pool with a large clearing, if we could get to it.

In the open there, it was blustery enough to jingle Lija’s bells with the wagon sitting, and there was a good nip in the air that day, in spite of the sun shining. Picatel was in the wagon, he and Pip sleeping the day away. We surveyed the wood below and thought we could see a possible way through to the pool, so we hitched up Mae and went ahead, with Lija walking alongside Coal, watching for the break we’d seen in the trees.

A shallow stream crossed the road, rushing with the spring rains. A way had been cleared along its westward bank at some time in the past. It was overgrown and wouldn’t be easy to traverse, but there was room for the wagon to pass if we went at it carefully. Lija drove while I walked ahead and rolled aside any large rocks or tree limbs, and we reached the pool and clearing at last.

It was an excellent spot for camping, and had clearly been used as such. There was a dug firepit ringed with stones and old logs for sitting, and even a small shack back in the trees that had fallen to a pile of debris. We found a level place to park the wagon, and settled in. We could stay a few days and get our laundry done, and ourselves properly bathed, and just relax a bit.

We put together Mae’s shelter for night, but let her loose in the meantime to graze at the grasses and weeds at the edge of the wood, and Coal followed her around, tasting a few for himself, after Lija carefully checked to make sure there was nothing that would harm them.

Picatel poked out his head as dusk began to fall, sniffed the breeze, and squeezed himself out through the trap door to join us. It looked like we’d need to widen that space for him, again. He’d apparently been feeding well lately. I went inside to get Pip’s crate and bring it out, so he could enjoy a few hours of the outdoors with night coming on.

Then we made a good fire in the pit and Lija cooked goolash for our supper. He regretted, as always, that it wasn’t as it should be, but anything with that much paprika in it was goolash to me. It was tasty, as was my Lija. I was more than getting used to the new spice in my life. We shared a log, watching the stars pop out in the heavens above, not talking, just being together.

Picatel finally slipped away into the dark on his nightly hunt, and the owl rustled about in his crate, trilling, ready for his. Mae was under her shelter, and the colt stood close beside her, at rest. I put out the fire, then we took Pip inside and gave him his supper of crickets, with a few extra for later, in the hope he wouldn’t raise such a noise in the middle of the night.

I stripped out of my clothes while Lija was firing up the heating stove, and hopped into bed to warm the sheets. Lija joined me, pulled his last shirt off over his head and dove under the sheets to plaster himself to me, cold. I chafed his arms and his back, and the firm softness of his lovely rump. He twitched under my gently kneading hands, nuzzling at my neck with his lips, and nipped my ear, in that kind of mood.

“I’ll be a tiger for you, Seanie,” he said with a devilish smile. “A she tiger.”

I was done for, but in a very good way. Lija tongued me all over, breathing, purring, softly growling in his throat. Trembling with arousal and passion for him, I tried to hold him, but he sensuously slithered from my arms, having his own plans. He caressed my body with his body, braced over me on his knees and hands, and devoured my mouth with his mouth. I surrendered completely.

We’d lost the covers, but Lija seemed not to notice. Leaning back on his heels at last, he took my hands and pulled me to my knees. Then he turned from me and knelt with his backside offered, slowly swaying, dark lashes lowered over blue eyes fixed on mine over his shoulder, inviting. I started to reach for him, then sense took me and I reached into the nook for the oil instead.

“Sean, you can do it without, I don’t mind.”

Oh no, I’d hurt him before and wouldn’t again, if it could be helped. I dealt with it as quickly as I could, not wanting his ardor to wane, and made a terrible mess, had oil running down my bare thighs and smeared all over the sheets. Lija switched his tail and backed against me, growling, purring, playing his part. I laid one oily hand on his pale, naked hip and slowly, carefully, put myself inside him.

Lija gasped. “Oh!” I would have stopped, but he reached back both hands to grip my butt and I could only go forward. “It’s wonderful, Seanie, it’s all right.” He moved against me, breathing in soft bursts, sliding back as I slipped him the rest of it. “Oh Sean, yes, take me hard like the tiger!”

I did my damnedest, but didn’t quite have his imagination. I held him steady on his knees and thrust myself in long strokes into his tight, gripping heat. It was sure he didn’t need or want more than that, for all the praise he breathlessly heaped on me. He finally raised himself up with a graceful arch of his slender back and offered me his bare shoulder to kiss and suckle, and I wrapped one hand about his in his lap, to help him catch it as he shuddered and came. That was everything I needed. I gushed mine hot and pulsing deep inside him.

We found ourselves sprawled in each others arms when it was done, sweaty and mired. I caught a breath as I could, pulling a blanket around us, and smoothed Lija’s rumpled hair with a still trembling hand. “I don’t know how I lived without you, Lija.” He held me like he’d never let go, pressing a warm and loving kiss to my shoulder. I gently rubbed his back. “I didn’t hurt you too much?”

Lija leaned back his head to give me a satisfied smile. “No, Sean, only a good hurt, only a little.”

Even a little was more than I liked, but it wasn’t as if we did that every night. It was a special treat. I asked Lija if he wanted to get cleaned up, we were quite a mess, but he hugged me and said he didn’t want to move. So I reached up and turned down the lamp wick, and we called it a night.


	40. Water

I woke to the sounds of water moving, water falling from the cliffs above into the pool below and rushing away over the rocky bed of the stream. It was going to be cold, that water, but we needed a good bathing, both of us. It was early still, not yet full light. The fire was out in the stove, but Lija was warm in my arms, backed to my front with Picatel curled up under his chin. I touched a kiss to the back of his head, and attempted to get up without waking him, unsuccessfully.

“Sean, don’t go.”

I tucked the covers back around them. “Need to start a fire, Lija, so we can have a dip in the pool and get clean. You can sleep longer. It’ll take me a while.” He mumbled something, but didn’t give up bed to join me. I found the breeches and shirt I’d taken off the night before and pulled them back on as I was. We’d be laundering everything in the next couple of days.

The wind was down and, though it was cool, the sun would be shining soon enough. Mae and Coal were already up and out. At Lija’s absolute certainty that neither one of them would wander away, I’d left her untied, and there they were getting a drink at the stream. I started a big fire in the pit first thing, then poured her a ration of grain when she came looking for it.

Lija came out after a while, wrapped in a blanket and apparently nothing else. Clutched in his arms were our cleanest clothes, his and mine, and a couple of large towels. I quickly finished setting water to heat for coffee and breakfast, then we braved the pool.

I waded in first, and couldn’t tell Lija it wasn’t bracing. He made faces, but finally dropped the blanket and came in with me. We stayed only long enough to dunk and get our hair washed, and scrub off the grime of the road, among other things. I tried playing a little then, getting used to the cold water, but Lija had had enough. He pulled away to go splashing out, hugging himself and shivering, and I followed along.

We quickly got ourselves dried. I helped Lija, briskly rubbing the wet out of his hair with my towel after I’d done my own. Even dressed, he was still cold, and huddled by the fire with the blanket around him again, raking the tangles out of his long hair while I started a pot of porridge simmering.

In spite of that chill beginning, the day grew quite warm, eventually. We gathered together all of our clothes and bedding, and did the washing, hanging everything from lines strung between the trees. Then we swept out the wagon and gave it a good cleaning. With summer ahead, we finally stashed the iron hotbed out of our way and removed the packed soil Lija had banked it with. We wouldn’t need to be cooking inside, hopefully. Maybe the smoky, spicy aroma would fade, but I wouldn’t mind if it didn’t. It smelled like home.

That evening, Lija unbound the owl’s wing to let him try it, and try it he did. In a flurry he was out of Lija’s hands and in the air. A few seconds later, he was on the ground with Picatel in hot pursuit. Lija quickly intervened to shut Picatel in the wagon and Pip wasn’t hurt, but we weren’t able to re-capture him. With a little practice, he was flying up into the branches of the trees, and Lija said that was good. I regretfully supposed we wouldn’t see him again, but I was wrong. We heard him during the night, and Lija found him the next morning perched up under the eave over the wagon’s front seat, fast asleep. Lija said that was best, that he should stay near for a few days so we could be sure he was recovered enough to feed himself.

We spent that day and many more in well earned relaxation. We had a beautiful spot for it, with the pool and stream and the constant splash of fresh running water. With not another soul for miles, surely. The days grew warmer and the nights less cool, and we finally packed away coats and sweaters, for the most part.

“I like this place,” Lija said, almost as if he would have liked to stay, but we had our quest. We looked at the maps. We were acquiring quite a collection of them, and had picked up a new one of the Carolinas before leaving Charleston. It was hard to see quite where West Virginia ended and North Carolina began, but I thought we should be passing over the state line soon, if we hadn’t already. There was a town called Wytheville directly ahead on the road we were taking. When we got there, we’d know where we were.

Pip had taken to flying down from his perch in the evenings, to collect insects in the leaf litter at the edge of the wood. Picatel watched him but had apparently accepted that he wasn’t for eating. By day, he roosted up under the eave, and seemed to like that arrangement. When we moved on at last, he went with us.


	41. Earth

We saw no towns of any size coming down out of the mountains to the east, but passed by countless small communities of hill folk, highland herdsmen in rustic shacks and clusters of simple homes built of stone or rough timber, small farms dug in wherever there was open land that was flat enough to till. They had less, but not so much because they were poor as frugal. A proud and self-sufficient people, we came to learn. If there was something they couldn’t get from the land they called theirs, then it was something they didn’t need. Our passing through was tolerated, but we weren’t welcome. In fairness, they seemed to make little distinction between northern strangers and southern strangers. They just wanted to be left alone.

We endeavored to be friendly regardless, and had some small success with the children. The kids always loved Picatel. But even when we were able to strike up conversation with passersby, most had no need or interest in what we were selling. Once we were really into the southlands, I expected there would be more interest but little means, though it wasn’t something I fretted over. If it was material gain we were seeking, we would have headed back east. As long as we could keep ourselves and our animals fed, that was enough.

The village of Wytheville was haphazardly strewn along the east bank of a narrow, fast running river. There was a waterwheel powering a grain mill, and a general store that smelled of corn whiskey. We went in to pick up a fresh supply of lamp oil, and received the usual wary looks from the stern faced men gathered around the stone fireplace. The proprietor was agreeable enough, since we were looking to buy, so I haggled a little with him over the price of a sack of coffee. We’d been out for a few weeks. Apparently, their store was low, so the price was well beyond reasonable. They had a blend that was half chicory for a lot less and we decided to give that a try instead.

Someone said, “There’s the preacher,” not in a tone I’d call respectful. A man came in, a thin man with graying hair, not elderly but older, carrying a walking stick and wearing spectacles. He smiled a broad smile around the room, and said good day to myself and Lija. A northerner, clearly from his accent. He introduced himself as Edward Dutton.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” I said. “Sean McGee, and this is Lija.” Lija insisted that was all the name he had. If it raised an eyebrow now and again, so be it.

Edward Dutton went on smiling. “We heard you have books?” I said we did indeed. “Splendid. My wife will be thrilled. Come for supper, would you? There’s a place you can park your wagon, right on the river’s edge, and the wife is already preparing a generous meal in anticipation.” He stepped close and added in a quiet tone “I expect you’ll feel more welcome with us.”

I expected the locals wouldn’t be sorry to see us out of their public house. Tipping my cap all around, we left them to it. We stashed away our purchases, then I hitched up Mae and drove to the south end of town. Lija walked alongside with Coal, while Edward Dutton rode on the seat beside me. I asked him if he’d been very long in the south, and he said four years.

“Margery schools some of the children hereabouts and I do a little sermonizing, but I fear we weren’t able to help much where help was most needed. These people would rather do for themselves, and the war had a less devastating impact here at any rate. In South Carolina and Georgia, a terrible toll was paid. It was more than a pair of old do-gooders could effect.” He sadly shook his head. “We came down from Philadelphia, thinking we might be able to make a difference. We lost our two boys and a fine grandson to the war.” I was truly sorry to hear so. “Best not mention that to Margery, you understand.” Certainly.

They had a modest timber house on the river’s edge, and the sun was just dropping below the tops of the mountains when we arrived. Mrs. Dutton came out to greet us, as smiling and cheerful as her husband. She saw Coal and all but swooned with delight. “Oh what a lovely colt,” she laughed. “My father raised horses, a very long time ago.” Lija immediately pegged her for an animal lover and roused out Picatel for her to meet, then showed her Pip just waking on his perch up under the eave.

While I was settling Mae, I suggested Lija open the cart so Mrs. Dutton could see what books we had. With a great deal of regret, she said supper would be ready soon, and the daylight was already failing. In the morning would be soon enough.

We had a fine meal, and a good talk after. Edward clued us in to the lay of things, which was much appreciated. For more than three years, the state governments in the south had been run by unionists, he said, but the white conservatives were expected to regain control in many of the next elections, and the battle was a heated one. The economy was shattered and freedmen were being terrorized by vigilante groups.

I followed the news so I’d known how it was in the south, but reading about it from hundreds of miles away wasn’t the same as hearing it from the mouth of someone who’d seen.

“So many northerners come south with the express purpose of exploiting the tragedy,” said Edward. “It isn’t difficult to see why many southerners are hostile toward anyone from the north. And tempers are flaring with the local elections ahead. You should be wary of getting caught in the middle.”

Mrs. Dutton asked, “You mean to go on south then? We were in Atlanta. It’s a heartbreaking thing to see.”

Lija had sat across the table from me, subdued, but he finally spoke up to quietly say we were going to Savannah and then down the coast, and we wouldn’t see Atlanta.

Edward said it was just as well. “There’s less trouble on the coast, I think. Atlanta was a hotbed when we were there.”

“The terrible violence,” Mrs. Dutton sighed. “So much anger still.”

“If those on both sides would only keep the lord in their hearts and show common compassion for each the other, then the healing might truly begin.”

There was no disputing that. I asked Lija if it troubled him, later in the wagon as we were settling to bed for the night. I told him we could always turn around and go back north.

“Does it trouble you, Sean?”

I had to be honest. “It does.”

Lija wrapped his arms around me and laid his head on my shoulder. “They will see we’re different, Sean. They will see your honesty and your good heart. They will understand that we’re only passing through.”

Maybe. Who could find threat in a pair of book traders with bells on their wagon and a foal trotting along beside? I sighed. “Onward we go then.” Come what may.

Mrs. Dutton brought us tea and fresh baked scones the next morning for breakfast, second breakfast more aptly, as we’d been up early cooking over a campfire set in the sandy soil of the riverbank. As the jury was still out on the subject of chicory, the tea and scones were much appreciated. We thanked Mrs. Dutton kindly, then opened up the cart so she could peruse the wares. She mostly looked at children’s books, and chose several adventure stories, saying the best way to interest a child in reading was to show them how magical the written word was. Lija and I agreed completely.

We got to talking about how little interest the local people seemed to have in books. She said that illiteracy was quite high among the mountain folk, but there were some who would be glad to see us, and gave us a list of names and places we could try. The MacMurdy farm was one, a couple of miles up into the hills. Esther and her mother Ruth were both avid readers, and Esther’s daughter Jewel as well, who was Mrs. Dutton’s best pupil.

We were introduced to Jewel when she came down the lane out of the wood with her two younger brothers for morning lessons, a pretty girl of fourteen or fifteen with her long red hair in pigtails. She took one look at Lija and her eyes lit up. Lija did have that effect on people, some more than others. She was thrilled that we had books to sell, and wanted to know right away if we had Bleak House by Charles Dickens, saying that her gramma had read it many long years ago but she and her ma had never got the chance.

I was pleased to be able to say I did have a copy. I hadn’t intended to sell it, knowing Lija would want to read it when he was ready for Dickens, but I would find another copy eventually. I’d not have passed up the chance to grant these ladies their fondest wish.

We met Mrs. Dutton’s other kids as they arrived, sixteen all told, most under twelve. Too many names to remember, though we tried. It seemed we made the day a special occasion. The kids were all interested, though some less with the books than with Coal and Picatel, and the wagon. They wanted to see inside, so Lija gave them a tour, a few at a time. Thankfully, Lija had tidy habits, which had worn off on me.

We spent the morning there, helping Mrs. Dutton with her lessons. By request, and it was probably Lija who started the asking, I read them the beginning of the story of King Arthur, then left the book with Mrs. Dutton so she could read them the rest. I’d seen the longing look she’d given it, but it hadn’t made the final pick. I knew their resources were limited. Before the kids headed home in the early afternoon, Lija played his fiddle so they could all see Picatel dance. Then we hitched up Mae to the wagon and drove Jewel and her brothers home.

The lane that wound up into the hills was narrow and rutted, but we took it slow and kept a careful eye on the colt . Scattered cows and their new spring calves watched from crudely fenced pastures as we clattered by with our bells jingling. Coal found a tortoise crossing the road and Lija had to get down and distract the colt so it could go on its way. Picatel joined him, then the boys, and they walked the last quarter mile, while the girl sat beside me on the seat, wistfully watching Lija. I couldn’t fail to notice she was at that age to be looking for a husband, or at the very least to be thinking about it.

We rounded one bend after another, and came at last to the MacMurdy place. There was a short, rising lane through an orchard of blossoming fruit trees, leading into a small farmyard where chickens scratched in the rocky soil. Several hounds came leaping off the front porch of the house to greet us, and Picatel leapt for the wagon top to disappear inside.

The kids’ mother had seen or heard us coming and stepped out onto the porch, a woman not much older than myself, red haired like her children, wearing an apron and wiping her hands on a towel. An older man came from the barn. Jewel introduced us all around, by first name only. It seemed that was how they liked it, so I took note and obliged them, the mother Esther and grandfather Leland, and grandmother Ruth when she finally came out, a tiny woman with work gnarled hands and an indomitable bearing. Her graying hair wound in plaits atop her dainty head and must have been very long indeed. She carried a bible in the pocket of her apron. There was another brother, Nate, who was out in the fields. We would see him at supper, Jewel said, as if she fully intended we should stay.

Scots-Irish, they were. They and I had a distant kinship for that. Leland said we could turn our horses out to pasture if we liked. I was grateful. Mae didn’t often enough get such liberty. We unhitched her from the wagon and set she and the colt loose in the near meadow with their milk cow, where Mae could graze to her heart’s content and Coal could kick up his heels and run. We all watched the colt for a little while, then Ruth sent Jewel and the boys off to get their chores done.

We opened up the cart and I found my only copy of Bleak House for the ladies. They were both beyond pleased, I could easily see. But they had no money, Ruth told us up front. I said we were glad to barter. They had a good number of books already, well worn copies lovingly kept on a fancy shelf in their simply furnished sitting room. I looked at the titles, but could see they didn’t really want to part with any. We made a good deal anyway. For three volumes of Dickens’ stories they didn’t have, we received a basket of fresh eggs, several jars of persimmon jam, and a bottle of elderberry wine.

Jewel re-joined us on the porch with her long hair brushed and loose, and sat herself down as close to Lija as she could. As they were so enamored of Mr. Dickens, I told them I’d seen the man give a lecture in Boston in ’67, and told them all about it. I didn’t tell them he’d passed away just last year. They’d probably never heard, and I saw no reason to say.

When Nate appeared coming from the fields with two mules in tow, the ladies took Jewel inside to work on supper, and we went with the boys to the barn to meet their elder brother. He was around nineteen, blessedly young enough to have escaped the fighting. We learned later that the kids had lost their father to the war, as well as three uncles. It must have been a terrible blow for a simple farming family, but they persevered.

They had baby goats, and newly hatched chicks in the henhouse, and Lija spotted a marmalade cat peeking down at us from the hayloft. It turned out they had two litters of kittens as well, and Lija had to see them and pick them up and cuddle them under his chin. Thankfully, and not because I don’t like cats, they were too young to be taken from their mothers.

We were called to supper, and felt bad that we’d shown up unannounced and forced them to stretch their meal, but Ruth insisted, sharing what they had. There was a large skillet of golden brown cornbread and plenty of fresh churned butter, and we easily filled up on that alone. After we’d eaten, Leland brought out a jug of hard cider while the ladies washed up, and poured us a cup each. The man wasn’t much of a talker, but he seemed glad to listen, so Lija spun a tale or two when the ladies finally settled, then entertained them with his fiddle a bit before we wished them all good night.

Once alone with Lija in the wagon, I asked him in a casual way if he saw how the young lass looked at him. He gave me a little smile and asked if I was jealous. I said no, of course not, and he kissed and hugged me.

“She’s only a little girl, Sean, and I don’t like girls anyway, not like that.”

In fact, she wasn’t such a little girl, but I wasn’t worried for Lija’s sake. “I’m just concerned she’ll take more than a fancy to you, and be broken hearted after we leave. Maybe you should be just a little less charming toward her.”

Lija sighed. “I don’t mean to, Sean.”

“I know you don’t.” It was his nature. He was charming to everyone. And I wouldn’t want him to be any other way. I put out the lamp and pulled the covers over us. “It’s all right, Lija.” We would be on our way again soon enough. I’d told them we meant to go on and visit the other farms Mrs. Dutton had recommended.

I lay awake with Lija snug in my arms, long enough to hear the faint sounds of Pip returning to his perch up under the eave after hunting, then woke next morning to a rooster crowing, before there was any light I could see. As usual, I left Lija curled up with Picatel under the covers, and got up to get out and start a fire for breakfast. They were already up in the house, a warm glow of firelight from the kitchen window. I’d had a thought that we might slip away early, unnoticed, but there didn’t look to be any chance of that.

Leland came out with his eldest grandson while I was taking down the hotbed, and said there was no need, that the women had breakfast on and we were welcome to go on in and have some. I didn’t like imposing, but didn’t want to offend either. I did go on to the barn with them to help out with their early morning work, and to check on Mae and Coal. When I returned to the wagon, Lija was up and out, splashing his face and shivering in the rosy dawn light. I said I was sorry there was no hot water, but we were invited inside for breakfast. He ducked into the wagon and came back out with our last unopened jar of spiced pears, my thoughtful Lija.

The pears were welcome and appreciated. They were opened and poured into a crockery bowl, and we had them with our cornpone, flapjacks made with cornmeal and fried in bacon grease. Jewel was conspicuously absent from the table. The lads snickered and one said she was fussing. Their mother gave them a look and said she’d be around presently. She never did appear and we finally thanked the ladies for a fine breakfast and went out to get the wagon ready to roll.

As we were hitching up Mae, Jewel came out with a large straw basket on her arm, in a pink dress and hair ribbons. Her Sunday best, surely. She said she would come along to introduce us, and to guide us around the back roads. I couldn’t deny it was a good idea. We were unlikely to be as welcomed as we’d been by the MacMurdys if we dropped in on our own without someone local to ease the way, even by those who were interested in our books. We couldn’t easily say no at any rate.

I settled on the driver’s seat and took her basket, and Lija helped her up and then sat on her other side, and we set out. She pulled a bundle of blue gingham cloth from the basket, and spent the day sewing as we rolled along. Sewing and chattering about the neighbors and the countryside, and directing us when to turn and what roads to avoid for one reason or another. A young lady of talent. I could see Lija was trying to subdue his own ebullient nature, after we’d talked about it the night before, but that was like trying to hold a cat in a paper sack. And I couldn’t fault him for enjoying the girl’s company.

The roads and lanes were narrow and often weed choked. They meandered seemingly without reason, up hill and down valley, frequently hugging cliff sides where the land dropped off into gullies below. We forded one shallow stream again and again, as the road wound back and forth. We would have never found our way without Jewel’s help.

We made several stops, and were welcomed for the most part, even invited here and there to step inside for refreshment. There was no money to be had in those parts, barter only, and our stocks were dwindling, but we ended up with enough persimmon jam to last us a good long while. It seemed the previous year had been a good one for persimmons. I found it a bit on the sour side myself, but Lija took to stirring it into his porridge every morning and said it was larapin, a word he’d picked up from Jewel.

At day’s end we came back down into the village by a different way. Jewel said she would walk home from the Duttons, where we meant to camp for the night, there on the river’s edge. Edward and Mrs. Dutton were out, sitting on their porch reading, and greeted us with smiles. Mrs. Dutton put down her book and came to pat and fondle the colt, saying she hoped we’d had a good day. I said we had and thanked her kindly.

Jewel finished her sewing, biting off a last thread, and held up her completed work. “Curtains for the window over your little supper table.”

I’m afraid I might have cringed.

“What a thoughtful gesture, Jewel,” Mrs. Dutton said with a funny half smile.

Lija loved them and immediately took Jewel into the wagon to hang them, and I followed along. We’d had curtains there at one time, but Grandad had said they got in the way of the view. Lija took down the cord that was already there to string them up, and told her they were wonderful. I couldn’t say it didn’t bring some color and cheer to the place.

“You both don’t sleep in that one little bed, do you?”

The girl asked it so innocently, but then I chanced to meet her eye and wasn’t so sure. Lija glanced me a strange look and said we came from the north where it was very cold and two bodies were warmer together than one alone.

Jewel dropped her eyes, seeming to see the real truth of it. A look of regret passed over her face, and resignation with it. She was a smart girl. Outside again, she collected her basket and said she had to get home. Mrs. Dutton asked if she wouldn’t stay for supper, but the lass thanked us so much for coming and then hurried away up the lane. I hated to think of her weeping her way home, and I know Lija did too.

When we set out the next morning, Mrs. Dutton gave me an especially warm touch of her hand in parting, and wished us all the best. It happened now and again with females, almost like we had some appeal for them they didn’t find in their men. It was usually Lija but I also met women who looked at me that way, in secret glances that seemed to hint of longing. Of course, there was nothing very subtle about Jewel, but she was young, very young. I fervently hoped she ultimately had more pleasure than sorrow from her brief encounter with Lija.   
It was different east of the southern mountains. A different climate, different plants and trees, a different landscape. Once out of the high lands, we drove through a country of rolling, wooded hills and tobacco fields dotted with drying sheds. There seemed little physical evidence of the war that had ended only six years before. Nature had all but reclaimed the land that was spoiled.

The real signs of post war could be found in the people. Some were angry, some resigned, and some hopeful, but all were wary eyed and watchful. We did poor business along the way, but put out our shingle regardless when we reached the city of Charlotte. Within an hour of parking the wagon I had a generous offer for Mae and the colt. Good horses were in short supply after the war, and it seemed even more so in the south. I’d make no such deal, of course, even if Lija would have let me. Mae was irreplaceable.

Charlotte seemed to all appearance a bustling city, its cotton mills running, business being transacted. Though our business was slow, we met all kinds of people, moderate southerners and black freedmen, and a great many northerners who, if Edward Dutton told true, were making their fortunes off the war’s survivors. I tipped my cap to all, trying to ease our way in as unthreatening a manner as possible, but I often found myself feeling sympathy where I hadn’t expected to. Most of the southerners we met seemed more weary than anything else.

Lija said there were good and bad people everywhere, which I knew well enough. We didn’t stay long in Charlotte. Thus far we’d had no trouble with the violent types we’d heard about, but we had South Carolina to get through yet. It was said Columbia had been burned in the last days of the war, and we couldn’t easily avoid it.

It became more apparent beyond Charlotte just how much the social structure of the south had changed, and was changing still. Without capital for the hiring of freedmen, sprawling plantations had been broken into small plots and were rented out, farmed by freedman who once tilled the land as slaves. We saw colonnaded mansions down long, tree-lined lanes, most in disrepair, some falling to ruin. And we saw row upon row of shanty homes, families of black folk crowded into one room shacks.

We stopped one day in a willow glade by a stream and fell into talking with one of the farmers. He’d never farmed, he said, had learned the skill of fine woodworking under the tutelage of his previous owner, but there was no opportunity for a black man to get such work after the war. He clearly stated he wasn’t making complaint. They had schools now, and he was allowed to vote. He was still learning to read himself, but his children had already learned. Things would get better.

Lija got out our last copy of Tom Thumb and gave it to the man for his children, and we wished them all well. We’d given away more of our merchandise along the way than we’d sold, but it felt right and good.

We went on our way again, with the sun beating down out of a clear blue sky. It wasn’t even June, but already the days grew far too warm for my liking.


	42. Fire

By the time we crossed into South Carolina it was sweltering, to my mind. Lija liked the heat, and told me again and again that I wore too many clothes. It was apparently the way of the gipsies to wear no more than was necessary. But I’d grown up in Boston where if a young man wished to be taken seriously, he dressed in an appropriate manner and at least behaved like a gentleman. Lija eventually convinced me to take off my suit coat, but I put it back on whenever we drove through a community of any size.

We saw our first troop of union soldiers, a dozen or so men patrolling on horseback with rifles, a few miles out from Columbia. There was rumor among the freedmen along the way that several black men had been lynched thereabouts, educated northern free black men who had come to help them find their way in the new south. We’d heard that black folk in South Carolina outnumbered white folk after the war, and that land had been given to ex-slaves. And still, the white democrats were near to regaining power over their state legislature. A vote only counted if a man wasn’t too fearful of reprisal to go to the polls and cast it.

We approached Columbia with a somber and cautious mien. A great deal of the city had been destroyed by General Sherman in ’65 and, though much rebuilding had been done, there were signs still of the damage done. Off the main thoroughfares and out of the public eye, we saw an entire block of fire blackened, partially collapsed buildings that had yet to be torn down and hauled away.

Lija and I had talked about driving on through without stopping, but it seemed a normal, business as usual market day when we came to the main avenue and the center of the city. So we found a place to park the wagon, a good spot with a broad tree to shade the horses, and myself, and opened the cart for business. A few people stopped to look, but we didn’t have a lot to offer at that point, and no one seemed very interested in just talking.

I thought we’d be better off finding the library, if there was one, and seeing if we might trade some of the old masters for more saleable items. I was about to suggest it to Lija when a well dressed young black man walked over and politely asked if we had any teaching guides, not books for children but books for teachers, to help with schooling children. He spoke like a northerner, and had a more self-assured demeanor than the freedmen we’d thus far met. I wished I could help him, but we were running low on books of all kinds. I said we meant to visit the city’s library and would see what they had on the subject, but he said there was little hope in that.

“James Peter Washington,” he introduced himself. He didn’t offer his hand to shake so I offered mine, then Lija shook his hand and said it was a noble thing, to be a teacher. He expressed his view that education was the single most important thing for southern black people to achieve in the next generation. He oversaw a school there in the city, he said, for poor white children as well as black. But it was difficult to get even simple supplies, and they were sorely in need of books.

I asked him about the city library, and was greatly saddened to learn it had been nearly destroyed, thousands of books lost. What remained were being housed temporarily in a hall of the new courthouse. He pointed it out to us, and told us how to get to his school if we’d like to stop by and see it. I said we would try to do that and thanked him.

Lija stayed with the wagon to keep watch, while I went to the courthouse and located their library, such as it was. The books they had barely half-filled a few shelves in a modest chamber on the second floor. There was an older man there in spectacles who seemed to be in charge. I spoke to him, feeling as if I ought to apologize for the senseless destruction. He was a southerner, a gentle man with care lines etched deep in his face. He’d been the Columbia library’s assistant curator before the war, he said, but he had little authority now, and they had no funds at that time for buying books if that was what I was selling.

I said I was heartily sorry for that, and took out the three volumes I’d brought from our private collection. It seemed I could do nothing less than give them to him for his shelves. He was wary and disbelieving at first, but I told him I was a lover of books myself, and didn’t like to see a library without them. He was grateful, and invited me to sit and have a cup of mint tea with him in his little office.

We talked quietly for a while and it came out that he had a great number of water damaged books hidden away. “I was ordered by my new superiors to have them destroyed. But I could not. So many had already been burned.” He said that most of them were in very bad shape, but for some a moldy book was better than no book. I couldn’t agree more, and it was possible to salvage a book from mold. He said I should come to the address he gave me after dark, and I could see for myself.

I went back to the wagon and told Lija the plan, then we packed up and went in search of a good farrier. Mae had gotten a sizeable stone wedged under her right front shoe a few days before. We’d dug it out, but thought we saw her favoring the foot now and then. As it turned out, there was thankfully no damage done, but the shoe needed re-nailing. We watched the man at his work to be sure he knew what he was doing, and talked with his young apprentice. The lad was taken with Coal, as folks tended to be.

We drove on to the outskirts of the city after that, and found a place on the river’s edge to park the wagon. Mr. Hollingwood at the library had said to come after dark, so we had our supper and waited for the sun to go down. I was unsure why the man felt we needed to be clandestine about the meeting, but would honor his wishes. When dusk fell at last, we hitched up Mae once again and followed the directions I’d been given, by way of back streets into a quiet residential area. There were no streetlamps, or none lit, but we were met as we neared the place by a young man with a lantern. He asked if I was Mr. McGee, and said his uncle had sent him to show us the way.

I attempted to engage the young man in conversation, but he had little to say, only walked silently ahead with his lantern, down an alleyway that was dark as midnight. I had misgivings, serious ones, but Lija seemed unworried by the situation, and I trusted his sense of that. The alley let out eventually into a small carriage yard, and Mr. Hollingwood was there waiting with another strapping lad. The man was wary and watchful as we followed him, to a cellar door and down a narrow turning stair in the lantern light. I asked him if there could be trouble in what we were doing, but he said no, not for us.

I could smell the mold as soon as we stepped into the room. There were several crates of books, stacked on a wooden frame off the floor to keep them from further wet. Mr. Hollingwood said, apologetically, that there hadn’t been the time or resources to do anything more with them, but if I thought there was any hope we should take them. I wasn’t going to say no, regardless, but we opened a couple of the crates to see what there was. Much of it was literature, but there were books of all kinds, from law books to medical texts.

Mr. Hollingwood’s nephews helped us haul them up from the basement and into the wagon. For the time being there was no place else to put them. We gratefully thanked the man, and gifted him with a jar of persimmon jam before taking our leave. Back at our chosen camping site, we settled Mae and Coal and then went through the books by lamplight. We chose a crate full to keep for ourselves. The rest we donated to James Washington’s school.

We found it next morning as the man had described, a small church off the main avenue, opposite the Fourth Street station near the train yard. James Washington was there and seemed surprised we’d actually come. They had three schoolrooms on the second floor. He showed us around, and introduced us to some of his teachers and pupils. They were very happy to have the books, in spite of the condition they were in. I gave them instructions in how to clean them and hopefully minimize the musty smell, and they gave us a warm glow to take along with us, as well as a loaf of fresh baked bread.

After picking up what supplies we could in the market, we left Columbia behind, headed for Savannah. There were a lot of things we hadn’t been able to get since leaving the north, and much of what could be had was in short supply, but we were able to get summer vegetables, and rice, the kind Lija wanted. It was a nice change from bread and potatoes, I had to admit, and Lija made wonderful things with it, even fried it into cakes sometimes when there was leftover. I’d thought him a fine cook when he had nothing but winter fare to work with, but he truly did wonders with fresh vegetables.

We worked on cleaning our new books as we drove along, meticulously wiping each page and propping them fanned open in the breeze. It was slow going, when we were both prone to be drawn into reading as we worked, but we eventually got the job done, and the books packed away in the cart. The inside of the wagon smelled of mold for a good while after, but it was well worth it in the long run.

The land grew flat and marshy, and we were plagued for a while by mosquitoes, when the dampness in the air made it hard to sleep covered at night. Lija was less troubled by it than I was, and felt sorry for me. I tried not to complain, but I was missing home a little, thinking fondly of more temperate summers in Massachusetts. Lija said it would be cooler beside the ocean, so I looked forward. On an oppressively hot day toward the end of July we began to smell the sea. In the afternoon we rolled into Savannah.

It was said Savannah was spared at the end of the war because they found it too beautiful to destroy. It was grand, what we saw of it that day in passing, but we drove through and on to the sea, past the shipping docks with their tall-masted schooners, and the lower docks where the fishing boats were coming in from their day’s work, to an open beach down shore from the village there. The sky was on fire with sunset to the west, but it was the ocean that captured and held us.

“We should camp here, Sean, where we can hear the waves.”

Why not, I figured. I scoped out the tide line while there was still light enough to see, and chose a safe place to park the wagon. But I sat there a few minutes more, watching the surf break and breathing in the salt air, missing Grandad.


	43. Food

We were up early next morning to see the sun rise over the sea. Well, I was up and I wheedled Lija into joining me. He would rather have stayed in bed and wanted me to stay there with him. It wasn’t an easy choice to make but out we went, in only our hastily pulled on trousers, to see the last of the stars twinkling out in the vast darkness. Sunrise was only a ribbon of pearly gray on the far off horizon.

Lija gave me a side-long glance.

I pulled him close to me and gave him a kiss. “We don’t want to miss any of the show.” He laughed, apparently resigned to enjoying it.

A gentle breeze blew in off the water, cool and refreshing after the sweltering nights we’d been having. Waves tumbled onto the shore. The tide was in, but headed out, leaving behind a wash of smooth, pale sand that glimmered in the growing light. Pip abruptly greeted the morning with a sharp trill and flew off from under the wagon’s eave, no doubt to look for a snack in the tall grasses up from the beach. We heard Mae shifting about then and went to check on things.

Though it still uneased me sometimes, we’d stopped hitching Mae at night, so she and the colt were free to wander if they wished. They never had. It was like Lija had some spell over them. That night they’d stayed especially close to the wagon. It was unfamiliar for Mae, having sand under her hooves, and she seemed a little distrustful of our new surroundings. Coal stood tensely pressed up against her side. We patted and reassured them, and I gave Mae a bucket of oats to ease her mind. When she relaxed, Coal relaxed, and Lija easily lured him out onto the open sand to show him he could run there.

Against a sky beginning to pink on the horizon, I watched them frolic for a long while, my heart full. When I could tear myself away from the sight, I went about filling Mae’s water bucket, then got a fire started for coffee and breakfast. Picatel had been out during the night and was probably sleeping in. I walked out to join Lija, feeling the cool crunch of the sand between my bare toes with each step. By then the sky had gone all gray streaked with amber and rose, the sun just about to break and split the heavens from the earth. Coal seemed to suddenly remember he hadn’t had breakfast and raced off toward the wagon to find his mam. I wrapped my arms around Lija from behind and we stood there and watched the sun rise.

“I like it here.”

“There’s a grand view,” I chuckled.

Lija hugged my arms across his chest. “We can get shrimp here, and mussels maybe. I can make us piaya.”

Something new. “Is that like chowder?” I felt his sides heave in a silent laugh.

“No, Sean, it’s even better. It has rice and Spanish sausages and garlic. And saffron if I can find it.”

We’d be going back into Savannah, where ships from all over the world traded. “They’ll have a good market in the city, Lija. We should be able to find most anything here.”

Dawn grew into morning and we began to make out activity away up the beach on the village pier. I regretfully took my arms from around Lija, and we went back to the wagon. Mae had finally wandered off a little way to taste the graze, and Coal was with her. Pip was settling to nap, returned to his perch under the eave. We washed up and dressed while the coffee was steeping, then sat at our fire while a pot of rice porridge cooked, watching the seagulls follow the fishing boats out on their day’s hunt, and a steam freighter coming in from the deep ocean, just a speck on the horizon at first, slowly growing until it passed by in the distance at last, headed for the bay and the Savannah docks upriver.

Several young lads from the village made their way along the tide wash with sacks and digging implements. We watched for a while, then Lija got up and went out there to make their acquaintance. I poured myself a second cup of coffee and kept the porridge pot stirred, trying to decide if we should pack up and take the wagon into the city to do some business, or maybe just take the day off. It felt like we’d earned one.

Lija came back and said they were digging clams and we should go and visit their village. I said we could do that later. The porridge was ready. We took it inside and had breakfast at our little gingham curtained table, because it pleased Lija. We often ate supper there when it wasn’t even raining. I told Lija I wasn’t too sure of leaving the horses unwatched, especially after learning how precious they were in those parts. Lija said we could take them with us up the beach to the village. “Mae will let us both ride.”

I was somewhat taken aback. I’d never felt very comfortable on horseback, had never even attempted to get myself onto Mae’s back. “I don’t know, Lija. She’s never been ridden before.” He didn’t seem to think that was a problem. Knowing Lija, I shouldn’t have wondered. After we’d cleaned up from breakfast, we gave it a try.

Lija gave Mae some gentle petting and a few soft words, then cupped his hands for me to step into. “I will boost you, Sean, then you can pull me up.” I took a steadying breath, and dragged myself up onto her broad back, gripping fistfuls of her silvery mane. I felt her muscles twitch and she swung her great head around to give me a look, but that was all the reaction she made. Lija patted her shoulder, then gripped my arm and scrambled up behind me. Miraculously, I managed not to fall off in the process. Coal stood back watching all of this with a wide-eyed look. Lija called to him, “Come, Coal,” then gave Mae a little nudge. “Go ahead, Mae.”

Having no bridle bit, I’d expected a hassle trying to get her to go in the right direction, but Lija somehow let her know what was wanted. She set off up the beach at a lazy stroll and Coal followed along. What a sight we must have made, me in my shirtsleeves like a common working man, Lija looking… like Lija. He wrapped his arms around my waist, at least until we neared the village, and I can’t say it didn’t feel as if I was on top of the world.

The villagers who were out did give us strange looks at first, but Lija quickly won them over. Quite a few of the people were Portuguese immigrants, it turned out, and he was able to talk to them in their native tongue. Others simply couldn’t resist his big-hearted charm. As I could have guessed, there wasn’t much interest in book buying there in the village. They were simple folk. But they were friendly, and it was nostalgic for me, the sounds and smells of a coastal fishing village, where gulls on the wing were as natural a sight as the chickens foraging in the cobbled street.

There was a bakery. The aromas that wafted from it were inspiring. We went in, following our noses, and found several of the village women at work, some kneading dough and others pulling long, crusty loaves from a brick oven. Lija looked all around like he’d discovered paradise, at bundles of fresh herbs hung from the rafters, and cheeses, and dark sausages. He exclaimed in Portuguese, and whatever he said pleased them. A woman took down a sausage and shaved a thin slice for us to try. It was spiced and smoky, just the sort of thing Lija liked and rarely found. He said to me that it wasn’t quite Spanish sausage, but it would be the next best thing. One of the younger women asked in English. “You would like more heat?”

“A little more,” Lija answered her, smiling, “I want to make piaya.”

The other women nodded understandingly, and apparently agreed to make some special for him. He thanked them heartily in their language, and bought a loaf of fresh warm bread, fishing in his pockets. I moved to check mine, but he found a few coppers and that was all they wanted.

Lija was pleased. We went back out and found a group of kids gathered, trying to lure Coal out from behind his mother with a handful of weeds. They started to scatter when we appeared but I said it was all right, calling them back, and Lija coaxed Coal to come out where they could pat and fawn over him. The colt was fine with it, as long as Lija was there. When we headed back down the beach at last, I chose to walk along with Coal while Lija rode Mae. When all was said and done, I preferred my feet on the ground.

Picatel was out, watching for us from the wagon’s rooftop. He jumped down and came to meet us, or Lija, who slid from Mae’s back to catch him up and carry him. I went to stash our fresh bread in the wagon, then we walked out to the tide wash and just moseyed along the shore for a while. There were signs of the passing of animals, the small footprints of birds and crabs, and narrow paths in the damp sand everywhere made by some creeping thing. Lija said the water looked perfect for swimming, but I talked him out of it. “There are fish in the sea big enough to eat you, Lija.” He laughed, but thankfully took my advice, for the time being anyway.

Picatel leapt from his perch on Lija’s shoulders and went to investigate a clump of seaweed that was washed up from the tide. A gull swooped in and landed a way off to stare at us, surely thinking we’d found something to eat and might share. It gave up and flew away when Coal came galloping out to join us, flinging plumes of dry sand in his wake. Picatel found something in the weeds and crunched it down, not an appetizing sound.

The village boys returned from down the beach, their sacks bulging with clams. They stopped to wonder over Picatel, and to admire Coal, and Lija enlisted them for a copper each to watch our camp for us while we went into the city. He wanted to go to the market. I tried reasoning with him that we’d be better off just taking the wagon so we could stock up, but he said we could do that tomorrow. He wanted to look around and see the city and then come back and make piaya for supper. It was our day off, after all.

The lads were all for it. Two of them went on to the village with their haul and said they would come right back. The others stayed. I took Lija off a way and asked quietly if he was sure we could trust them, and he said he was. We took Coal back to Mae. Lija told him to be good and stay put, then told Picatel the same. I could only hope. I went into the wagon to get a few silvers from the lock box, and to secure things as much as could be. Then I put on my coat and cap and we walked into the city to have a leisurely look around.

On peaceful, tree-lined streets, we saw ornately trimmed houses painted in soft colors, majestic columns shading broad porches, and gardens of flowers everywhere. There were squares and fountains on nearly every block, and the people were genial and easy going. Even in the busier parts of the city, there was an atmosphere of relaxed calm. It seemed unlikely Savannah wasn’t having the racial troubles the rest of the south endured, but it wasn’t so evident there. The air seemed fresher, the city sounds less jangling.

I located the library. That would be our first stop next day. I also scoped out the best spots for putting out our shingle, and we went into a shop to look at maps. We’d come about as far as we could on the ones we had, though it should be no difficult thing making our way down the coastline to Saint Augustine. Lija was excited to have a new map for charting our path. We found one of the Georgia coast and northern Florida, and purchased as well a fresh supply of ink and writing paper, things easily carried in a satchel.

We looked at the books they had for sale, to gauge what was popular reading in Savannah, and I talked to the shopkeeper and his daughter about the business of bookselling. They were pleasant and didn’t take offense, in spite of our being competition for them, though the young woman put me in my place when I mentioned their shelves looked a little spare. Books were in short supply in the south after the war, she said, politely and smiling but with her sweet southern drawl a bit overly honeyed. I understood that completely, and apologized. “I only meant that we might be able to complete one of your collections. We have top quality volumes of both Bracebridge Hall and Tales of the Alhambra.” They seemed to have everything else Washington Irving had written. I had a feeling it might be a personal collection and only there in the shop to fill an empty shelf. It seemed I was right. The man was beyond excited and took no pains trying not to show it, and his daughter relented. She said we should come back when we had our merchandise and maybe we could all work something out. I said we would be in town next day with the wagon, said I hoped we could do business, and tipped my cap to them in leaving.

Lija seemed a little put out. I couldn’t understand why, until he announced that was enough of business for today, please. “We can work extra hard tomorrow, Sean.” I was agreeable to that, and promised not to think any more on it. Clearly, he was taking this cooking project of his seriously.

We bought handpies from a street vendor for our lunch, and roasted peanuts to eat as we walked, a new favorite treat of ours. The market was bustling, but we didn’t linger that day. Lija picked out vegetables, just enough to make his piaya, along with a woven rope of garlic, which he’d been missing since he ran out several months back. Citrus fruit was available in Savannah, lemons and limes from South America, and oranges. I stopped, watching the seller slice one open, remembering. “Back in Erie... I got an orange for Grandad on Christmas eve.”

Lija breathed in the aroma. He remembered it too and quietly said, “I smelled it on your fingers.”

We found his olive oil in an import shop and for the price you would have thought it was fine wine. We grabbed a bottle anyway. Lija said he would only use it for special. They had spices as well. Lija intently browsed the long line of jars and found what he was looking for. It was a dear thing, this saffron, but Lija said he only needed a pinch. The woman folded a pinch of the reddish threads into a small paper cone and wiped the dust off the bottle of oil, and I laid her silvers on the counter, then another when I caught Lija eyeing a basket of little chocolates brought all the way from Austria. We got a bag of them, some for Lija and some to share.

We stopped by the dockside fish market on the way back out of the city. It was shady under the awnings, but it was July and anything but cool. There were no fish to be seen at that time of the day, but they had what Lija needed in tubs of water, still alive. Lija picked out a few shrimps and mussels, and one crab with its claws banded, and they were packed into a sack for us with enough chipped ice to keep them from the heat.

I stripped off my coat as soon as we were well out of the city, and we sampled the chocolate on our walk back to the beach. I’d tasted chocolate a time or two, but never anything like this. Lija rolled his eyes with that little sound he sometimes makes when I please him especially. Well worth the price, that was.

I feared a little finding our camp either in chaos or gone, but everything seemed fine. The boys sat in the sand watching Coal and his mother grazing among the grasses. Picatel lounged in the shade under the wagon, watching them. He came out to greet us and leapt into Lija’s arms. I set our sack of shellfish out of the sun, and handed out coppers to the lads. Lija went with them to the village, to get the sausages he said, and to see if anyone had a piaya pan he could borrow. Picatel went along, riding on his shoulders.

I started a big fire and set water to heat. Lija had told me he needed a bed of coals to set the pot over, so I fed it well and then collected what driftwood was nearby. I knew how to clean a fish, though it wasn’t a favorite task, but I didn’t know exactly what Lija meant to do with the shellfish he’d chosen, so thought I’d better leave that to him. I knew he needed rice, so I scooped out a bowl and set to picking through it for stones and debris.

Lija came back down the beach at last carrying a large cast iron skillet, and having some difficulty it looked like. Picatel ran ahead of him, then stopped to wait for him to catch up, then ran ahead again. I got up and walked to meet them, and took the heavy pot from Lija to carry. He had a sack as well and showed me what he’d got for a few pennies. The sausages they’d made just for him. A small chunk of hard, pale yellow cheese wrapped in cloth. And a bundle of fresh, raw chicken wings. This piaya of his was bound to be tasty. He had stuffed into his belt the chocolate bag, looking pretty much empty.

“Did you give away all your sweets?”

He gave me a somewhat sorry look, like he thought I minded. “Not all. I saved two for us for after.”

For after what, he didn’t say. I leaned over to peck him a kiss on the cheek, just for being Lija.

We had some good coals in the fire by the time we got back to camp. I spread them into a nice bed and set the skillet over them to start getting hot, and Lija brought his spice box and all of the things he’d gathered. Picatel sat between us, watching with great interest while Lija poured a small amount of olive oil into the skillet and then browned the chicken wings in it. Just the smell of that had my mouth watering. Lija sliced a length of sausage and cut up the vegetables into little pieces to add and sprinkled it with salt, then ground some pepper over. Once it was all nicely browned, he brought water to pour in, and covered it with the pot’s heavy lid so it could cook for a while. He eyed the sack of shellfish then, with a look I well knew.

I offered to do it for him, if he’d tell me how he needed them prepared, but he shook his head.

“No, I will do it.” With a determined face, he got to his feet and picked up the sack, and walked away out to the edge of the sea. Picatel scampered after him.

The tide was coming in, a ghost of the moon beginning to rise out of the ocean on the horizon. To the west, beyond Savannah, the sun had already dropped out of sight. I watched Lija crouched beside the waves, but couldn’t easily see what he was doing in the twilight. A few gulls had come to land, but Picatel chased them away, no doubt meaning to have whatever leavings there were for himself. Lija returned finally with his piaya fixings cleaned and washed in sea water, the shrimps beheaded and the crab severed into  
pieces but still with their shells. Lija said it would taste better so, and I was sure he knew best.

I lifted the lid off the pot, and he poured in handfuls of rice then carefully poked it down under the broth with a wooden spoon. He dropped in a couple of dried leaves from among his herbs, and a few pinches of this and that, then told me to put the lid back on. He then took out the little package of saffron and set it on top of the pot lid, and we watched as the paper slowly caught the heat and charred. Interesting. Lija said just a few minutes more, then deftly salvaged the toasted saffron from inside the burned paper, and had me take off the lid so he could sprinkle it in. It looked more than tempting, the rice swelled up through the bubbling broth to fill all the nooks and crannies. Lija tucked in the crab pieces and the mussels. A couple of minutes more and the shrimp went in. When at last he smiled and proclaimed it ready, I pulled the pot off of the fire and lifted the lid once more. The aroma was amazing, and the rice had gone yellow. “What a wonderful thing, Lija,” I grinned at him. “We’ll have to get you a big skillet of your own.”

We feasted beside our crackling fire, as the rolling waves reached high tide and then began to slip back into the sea. It was all gustos, the piaya, life, and Lija especially. He offered me a succulent morsel of crab and smiled sensuously into my eyes when I sucked at his fingers a little in taking it. We feasted until we couldn’t possibly hold anymore, sopping up what broth remained with crusty bread so the rice wouldn’t be soggy come morning. Lija put the lid on the pot then and instructed me to set it back over the waning ember bed.

The moon had risen over the ocean. It began to feel late. We cleaned up and then checked on Mae and Coal, who were standing together at rest by the wagon. Lija had given Picatel a chicken wing and he’d possessively taken it away into the dark. He would come back when he was ready to, and would let himself in. I figured we were headed for bed, but Lija took my hand with a little smile and led me out across the beach toward the water. He stopped just up from the tide wash, where the sand was dry, and sat down there. I sat down beside him and put my arm around his shoulders.

“I like it here, Sean.”

“I like it here too, Lija.”

“We could stay for a while.”

We could. “Saint Augustine will be there.”

He sighed. “But we’re so close now.”

“Well, fairly so. It’s still a few weeks travel, at least. It’ll be September into October by then. Do you suppose it’ll be any cooler?” He shrugged. He liked the heat.

“Probably not, Sean. I’m sorry. It’s nice here, tonight.”

It was. It was just about perfect. The sand held just a little warmth still from the sun and a soft, cool breeze carried in from the sea.

Lija took out the chocolates he’d saved for us. They weren’t in the best condition, after being jostled around in a bag for hours half-melted in the day’s heat. Lija popped one into his mouth and I opened up so he could pop the other one into mine. It was fine, and with the taste of it still on my tongue Lija kissed me. I kissed him back with my whole heart.

It gave me pause, I can’t say otherwise, when it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for someone to be out along the beach in the moonlight where they could see us, but Lija wrapped his arms around my neck and pulled me down onto the sand with him, and it wasn’t in me to say we shouldn’t. So we took off our clothes and loved each other, there under the stars, to the sound of the sea. I’d believed nothing could surpass the heart-pounding pleasure we’d already found together, but there’s always something grander ahead if you keep on searching.

The moon smiled down on us pale and softly glowing as we lay there after, catching our breath. Lija slowly stretched against my side and laid his head on my shoulder, closing his eyes. He surely didn’t mean for us to stay the night out there. “Lija.” I brushed a wisping strand of long, dark hair from his face and kissed his forehead. “It must be past midnight.”

He opened his eyes and looked into mine. “We can sleep a little late tomorrow, Sean. Tonight is special.”

Oh yes, it was special, and I would grant him anything he wanted. He got up and took my hand to pull me to my feet, and said he wanted to wade. I balked just a little.

“Please, Sean. I won’t let anything eat you,” he laughed.

I stooped to grab up my clothes, but Lija pulled me away, saying we would get them on the way back. I let him drag me out to the water’s edge. The tide was low, the sand there smooth and wet and shifting underfoot. Lija waded right into the surf all the way to his waist and then dived in.

“Lija!” I was in as far as my chest, going after him, when he surfaced and came back to me, laughing with delight.

“It’s all right, Sean. It’s wonderful. Come swim with me.”

I resisted. “Lija, no, I’m not much of a swimmer. And I can see you are but it isn’t safe here, especially at night.” I waded out and he followed, to sit there at the edge for a little while letting the waves break over us. He said he was sorry for scaring me.

“But the sharks have plenty of food. They don’t eat people.”

Not very often. “I just think they might find you specially delectable, Lija.” I did. He smiled. The waves washed higher, the tide turning. We got up at last to head back, and all of a sudden there were crabs everywhere, come out in hordes to feed along the damp sand in the moonlight.

Lija was fascinated by the sight. I badly wanted my clothes on. He laughed, grabbing my hand, and we took off across the sand for the upper beach, stark naked and dodging crabs as we went.

Picatel beat us to bed. By the time we’d washed off the salt water and climbed into the wagon, he was curled up fast asleep in our bunk. We joined him there to get a few hours sleep.


End file.
